Crazy Hearts
by Clef Longfellow
Summary: Puck's a patient in a nut house. He hates everybody and has no problem showing it. Unfortunately jail may be in his future if he can't control himself. A new arrival unexpectedly challenges everything he knows about himself and what he wants for his life. A/U, Slash! Puckurt, Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Don't own jack. Not even jill. None of it. Except this story. I'm no expert on the exact happenings or the appropriate regulations of a psych ward or mental hospital but I will say that that's what imagination is for, right? I kind of like my own idea of what I think one would be like for our beloved characters. I love reviews and critiques are welcome, just try not to go for my jugular.

**Warnings:** **I have decided due to multiple responses of people being upset about my lack of clear warnings (again my hope was to avoid giving away the plot but I realize now that there is a bigger responsibility as a writer to ensure that people are properly prepared for the harder, darker, sort of content) that I would update this chap and make it very clear what to expect so hopefully no one feels potentially triggered, upset, etc. PLEASE NOTE: There will be **-** _Character death: major and minor, suicide, mentions of murder, sexual abuse/assault, physical abuse, slash/smut, and racist, sexist, and generally inappropriate language. _****I'm not going to go back over every single chapter to provide specific warning each time but just know that everything I mentioned above will happen at some point in this story so again, if it's not for you, I understand, and please with respect, don't read it. Not every story is for everybody. **

Now with that said, if you're still reading at this point of course, be prepared my dears or respectfully exit before your eyes burn. Not that I want your eyes to burn. I want them to feel nice, hopefully as they rove over my story. Just sayin...

* * *

How many times did the vending machine have to stop fucking working when he so desperately needed a cereal bar, he would rape his own mouth just to get it?

It's not like they were allowed any real comforts in this god forsaken place. It took him over a week just to earn enough change to be able to afford the damn thing. A fucking week. And all he wanted was to enjoy a fucking cereal bar.

His foot acted of its own accord. Then it was joined by his fists. Then at some point, he was ramming the machine with his broad shoulder, tilting it upward with his growing ferocity.

He barely registered being slammed on his back. One glance across the tiled floor told him that either he or someone else was bleeding.

There has to be two or three people on him. His screams are wild, full of anger and pain beyond that of someone simply being robbed the chance of something as seemingly insignificant as a cereal bar.

"Calm down Puckerman!"

"Sedate him, NOW!"

He fights. He fights as if this is his last moment of living.

And then he sees someone. A lithe, pale someone, being led into the facility.

They lock eyes.

The last thing he remembers seeing is blue. A really nice blue that reminds him of summer skies.

Then darkness overtakes him.

* * *

"Noah, this is the third time we've had to restrain you in the past week alone, and the second time you've physically assaulted the staff. Not to mention your other incidents with some of your peers. If you keep having these violent outbursts, we'll have no choice but to transfer you to the juvenile detention center."

He wasn't fazed. Whatever this pill pushing crack pot had to say, it wouldn't faze him.

"I wouldn't have had to go all ape shit up if the fuckin' vending machines in here actually worked. _Doc_," he added codescendingly.

"Noah. If you just would've notified the staff, I'm sure they would've been able to assist you-"

"Oh, bull shit! I've tried telling these fuck nuts about it. I did last time this shit happened and you know what they did? Abso-fuckin'-lutely nothin'."

It was obvious the Doctor's patience was seriously thinning. His grey eyes were alert, but at the same time weary, tired. Dr. Schuester had a whole hospital full of teenaged patients. Cutters. Schizo's. But none ever quite pained him as much as the young man sitting across from him.

Noah Puckerman.

Paranoid, prejudiced, narcissist, with explosive rage, severe emotional dysregulation, and no impulse control. The kid was a junkie turned veteran thief with no ability to follow rules.

He was diagnosed with conduct disorder. Dr. Schuester secretly thinks he was just born an asshole. Six months of these sorts of incidents have done nothing to deter his theory about the kid so far.

"Look Noah - "

"Puck," the teen interjected. His eyes steely, a direct contradiction to the smirk on his lips.

Dr. Schuester exhaled slowly.

"Mr. Puckerman, all I know is that you have to stop doing this. I can't justify keeping you here if you keep being physically violent and destructive. You're here to go through the program, get through treatment, and stay out of juvie."

"Yeah, well how do you expect me to do all that if you guys can't even manage to keep shit workin' around here? Guy can't even treat himself to a god damn juice box without jumpin' through twenty fuckin' hoops."

"Lashing out is only making things worse for you. And judging from your repetitive number of offenses this week, I'll take it that you've been un-medicated."

The boorish teen sits up at that remark. His smile a little less faciscious, a little more thoughtful.

"What makes you think that?"

"Only your increased outbursts."

"Whatever Doc. Prove it!"

"Sorry?"

"Prove it! Prove that I haven't been takin' those fuckin' pills."

Dr. Schuester leaned into his desk, his knuckles whitening as he clutched the edges. He can't do this with him anymore. He won't do this anymore. As much as he wanted to help him, he would probably have to note him as another statistical failure. Giving the kid so many chances has done nothing but reinforce his irrational and egotistical thinking.

"Puckerman. I can't do this with you anymore. It's obvious you don't care about others safety and well being but I do. I have to keep my staff and the other patients safe. You've just had your semi-annual assessment. If you don't show any improvement within the next three months, that means taking your medication, attending group therapy, and no other sorts of shenanigans and macho BS, I'll be writing the judge a full report and you'll be on a bus to Fairview Detention Center to complete a two year sentence. Well, however much time you have before you turn eighteen. After that... the rest of the time will be served at the State Penetentiary."

That got his attention. Dr. Schuester could tell. His eyes had lost that dangerous glint. His mouth was paper thin, lips chapped, and pursed as if he was struggling with his entire being to hold back a monumentous string of curse words. His hand ran through the tips of his dark mohawk, an attempt, to no doubt appear non-chalant, uncaring, in the face of something as horrific as being check mated by a shrink, and threatened with the cold, unyielding reality of spending two years in a cement box.

"Fine, Doc. But you still owe me."

Dr. Schuester was surprised by this exclamation. Despite all of the warning bells sounding in his head, his curiousity got the better of him. Sure, he would bite.

"How do you figure?"

And there it was, that damn sneer Dr. Schuester was so used to seeing spread on the kid's face like a comfortable winter coat.

"Eighty five cents. For the vending machine."

There was a pause in which the good Doctor could only carefully observe the seventeen year old sitting across from him with a mixture of enormous exasperation and the now mild, yet always present intrigue.

"You're a fair guy, Schue. I lost my money. You told me to tell the Staff. I'm telling you now."

William Schuester had a PhD, was trained in all of the latest psychological insights and practices, was reknowned for his work all over the state...

But for some reason he found himself reaching into his pocket, feeling around for change, counting out eighty-five cents exactly, and placing it in the outstretched, calloused palm of one Noah Puckerman.

For just a moment the teen's sneer radiated a brief display of genuine appreciation, but it was only a flicker, a milisecond that was too quick to truly be certain of.

He had forgotten that point: the kid was also a profound master of manipulation.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day Puck got to put a face to those blue eyes.

He had almost forgotten all about their encounter in the midst of squirming underneath the weight of three grown men and fighting off the inevitable reaction of sedation. They were just as blue today as they were yesterday.

The blue eyed stranger was sitting across from Jacob Israel. The poster boy for suicidal patheticness rolled up into a scrawny, Jewish package.

Jacob was quietly picking at his food, failing to make eye contact while the other boy eyed him curiously, his pouty mouth moving every so often indicating some valiant effort to engage the Jew in some semblance of conversation.

Puckerman smirked as he made his way over to their table with his own tray in hand.

"Sup, Jew Fro?"

Jacob didn't turn to address him, his eyes fixated on his tuna sandwhich, his posture suddenly more rigid.

"I t-told you, Puckerman. My name is Jacob."

"You know Jew stain, I have a theory that your Mom probably has some spook blood in her family tree. That or she fucked some porch monkey and he's your real Daddy. That fro has a little too much authenticity to it if you ask me."

"Well I-I didn't... Ask you, that is."

Puck chanced a look at the boy sitting across from both he and Jacob. He was smiling. At Jacob's stupid attempt at humor no less. He never could register embarrassment as simply embarrassment. It always transformed easily into agitation, anger.

Puck grabbed Jacob by the front of his shirt and yanked him forward.

"Are you being a fuckin' smart ass with me in front of our new guest,_ Jacob_?"

"N-n-no."

"Good," and he released the boy and took the apple from his tray for good measure. "You're a Jew after all. I'm glad you're smart enough to know when to save it."

Puck was sure his outburst would've earned him a look of fear from the new comer, maybe even contempt. He was therefore surprised to see the lithe, pale skinned newbie still grinning; his lips curved ever so slightly hinting at his amusement.

"Fuck you lookin' at newbie?"

"Not sure yet," he answered lazily.

His voice was high pitched. Too high pitched. Like a soft spoken woman or other worldly being.

"Great. We got a fro headed Jewbie and a faggot newbie sittin' together. Now we just need a wet back and we'll have our own rainbow coalition."

The newbie leaned forward, balancing his smooth chin on his open palm, his soft eyes glinting. Puck couldn't tell if it was curiousity or maybe something else.

"I think I have an answer for the question you asked before."

"What?" He was caught off guard by this admission.

"As far as I can tell you're some neo natzi delinquent who uses intimidation to either make up for the fact that he has the penis the size of a toddler, or to forget all the nights that Daddy got drunk and beat him senseless."

Puck opened his mouth to answer, but the words felt stuck in his throat.

"Judging by the way you're gaping like a complete, an utter ignoramus, I'll guess the latter. Too many punches to the head can cause brain damage they say."

Jacob swallowed. Puck was momentarily stunned. No one had ever had the balls to speak to him that way. At least none that wanted to keep their teeth. It was degrading. This pasty faced faggot actually stunned _him_, Noah fucking Puckerman, into silence.

All he could muster was a sneer worthy of Hitler himself. He sank his teeth into _his_ apple, an attempt to seem unaffected as he trailed his dark eyes over the smaller boy.

"A mouthy faggot, huh?" He taunted with his mouth full, bits of apple trailing messily over his bottom lip. "I didn't know your kind could do anything more then keep their mouths full'a dick. I stand corrected."

"Oh we do that too," the boy responded coolly. "I usually like to get a name first. My name is Kurt," and he slid his hand out for Puck to shake. "And you are?"

Puck bristled, his sneer wavering, then slipping back into place as he placed the half eaten apple into the boy's awaiting hand.

"Puck."

"It's actually Noah _Pucker_man," Jacob spoke up.

Puck shot him a warning glare, immediately cajoling him into a tense silence.

"Hm. Puckerman. Isn't that Jewish?"

Jacob - who had once before made the mistake of pointing this exact observation out to Noah - visibly flinched, recalling the extremely intense moment of pain of having to have his nose reset after voicing the connection aloud.

Puck was sure he was supposed to dive across the table now. But yet he remained still, regarding the teen sitting across from him with growing intrigue. He wasn't used to this. Someone battling back, trading shot for shot. He was only used to dominating and crushing his opposition.

"You know Fag. You're lucky I don't hit women."

The boy - Kurt, was it? - Rubbed the sleek untainted portion of the apple on his gray uniform shirt, and took a delicate bite before replacing it in front of Puck with a sly grin.

"Thanks for sharing Puckerman. Jacob," He finished pointedly, throwing Jacob - who looked torn between shrinking under the table or leading a round of applause - a solemn nod before retreating.

Puck observed the boy as he sauntered away, almost floating.

He really was like a woman. His movements were calculated, graceful; hell his hips even switched when he walked. He was well spoken, probably the rejected offspring of some richy state senator or something. His brown hair was trimmed, light bangs wafting over his carefully manicured brow.

"It's official Jacob. Someone in here is more faggy then you. Congrats dude!"

"Er, thanks. I guess."

"You're welcome," said Puck with an air of contentment; wasting no time as he snatched Jacob's apple juice carton, chugging it down in a single gulp.

It was weird. Puck actually felt a twinge of a giddiness he hadn't felt in a while. Finally... New, and very interesting prey.

* * *

"So then, it just, I don't know. The more I kept trying not to think about it, the more I kept thinking about it, you know?"

Dr. Schuester gives the nerd a wry grin. Puck figures it was supposed to be some show of encouragement. It looked more like a grimace brought on by listening to too many years worth of sob stories.

"It's normal to feel some level of anxiety Adam. What happened was traumatic for you."

Puck groans audibly. How much more ass is this Doctor going to kiss before getting to the point? Dr. Schuester ignores Puck's disruptive gesture and continues.

"You lost your Uncle in a plane crash. It was an abrupt, traumatic, loss -"

"Aw, Come _on_. Dude, you can't be serious?"

Dr. Schuester sighs, guessing that the inevitable was probably soon to befall the group.

"You lost your Uncle who you probably didn't give two shits about in a plane crash. Dude, _that's_ what you're pissin' and moanin' about?"

"Noah, you shouldn't judge Adam for sharing his feelings. We don't do that here. You know that- "

"Who's judging? I'm just stating the facts. This dude is obsessing over being killed in a plane crash when he comes from a po dunk, hick town that he'll never drive out of let alone fly from. And you're sayin' that that obsession is valid? Jesus H, Doc, you might as well put the kid out of his misery cause they only thing he should be obsessing over that he'll never get, is pussy."

"Noah that's enough! Now I've warned you. If you can't be respectful to your peers then I'll have you put in the quiet room for the next twelve hours."

"I'm sorry," He trills playfully. "Adam. Adam, is it?"

The chubby teen lifts his dirty blonde head, shiny with grease, and nods in confirmation.

"Right. I'm sorry... But you're_ seriously _not getting laid any time soon-"

"Alright Noah that's it!"

"Wait Doc! C'mon I was only jokin'-"

"Jerry, Gavin. Can you please escort Mr. Puckerman to the quiet room. He can try joining us again tomorrow."

"Schue, c'mon man-"

"He needs time to think about his future with us."

Puck doesn't fight as the two orderlies pin his arms behind him and lead him away from the group, his feet dragging comically as he's pulled along.

"You can't put this on my record Schue. I still came to group. This doesn't count."

Dr. Schuester ignores the surly teen's remarks and proceeds as if a musclely seventeen year old being dragged out forcibly wasn't distracting in the slightest.

"Now Adam, um we'll finish talking in our individual session, okay? Kurt?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to tell the group a little about why you're here?"

Puck perks up, trying to turn his head to get a glimpse of the pale teen as he nears the door.

A brief pause, and then a simple, "No."

"It's okay if you're not ready yet," Dr. Schuester tried.

"No. It's more like I lost my inspiration. My only form of entertainment just left the room."

Puck couldn't help the smile that lingered on his lips as he was ushered forward. For a moment he almost forgot that he was soon to be suffering twelve hours of padded solitude. But even when the realization came, for the first time in a long time, the urge to fight never overtook him.

* * *

His meds always did this: made him feel foggy, disoriented. He sat in the group, two seats over from Dr. Schuester and straight across from the interesting little fag kid.

Dr. Schuester was asking something. Wait was he talking to him? He attempted to tune back in, pushing back his other thoughts of deer hunting, fucking that girl Tabitha in his truck bed under the stars, that stupid blank expression etched on the fag's face...

"Er, what?"

"I said, maybe you'd like to share today?"

Puck shook his head. "Share what?"

"Well, I thought maybe recalling why you're in here could be helpful. Not just to you yourself, but it may help others feel comfortable with sharing as well."

Puck felt his sneer begin to formulate on his face, but the meds caused it to become mishapen, stretched into a taut line.

"Funny. You _want_ me to talk today." It was a statement. Not a question.

"Why is that funny Noah?"

The line of his mouth stretched impossibly thinner.

"Cause I pretty much monopolized the conversation yesterday. Now you want me to talk. It's just,_ funny _is all."

"If you don't mind," said Dr. Schuester, indicating that he indeed is being serious and wants Puck to openly share his story.

"Alright. Well, I'm in here for something horrible. And when I think about it. It really was all my fault. And I feel completely awful about it. But I take full responsibility now."

His dark eyes catch soft blue staring avidly at him, hanging on his every word despite the cool demeanor emanating from the poised figure.

"I... fucked a duck. Puck, fucked a duck. And now he's stuck."

He couldn't keep a straight face as his giggles erupted throughout the last part, "Some dumb luck. Schucks."

Dr. Schuester is shaking his head, his face down cast, hiding the flashing anger storming in his greyish orbs.

But Kurt, he laughs. He laughs hard. A sweet sounding chuckle that rings throughout the room like a church bell on Easter Sunday.

Aw, well, one more twelve hour stint may just be worth that annoyingly adorable laugh Puck thinks to himself. It was nice to actually hear real laughter in this hell hole of a place. Even nicer to know that it can be prompted by a screw up like him.

* * *

"Hey Fag. Jew."

Jacob shakes his head vigorously, a warning for the other teen to let it go. Kurt exhales, and flicks his eyes over the offending culprit currently plopping down at the lunch table with them.

"Puckerman," Kurt greets almost politely. Puck can't tell though, it's like the kid is made of porcelain: pale, straight lines, pouty lips, crystal eyes, and a talent for hiding his emotions.

"Are you gonna take my orange today, cause, I-I sort of need my vitamin C."

Puck glances over at the bespectacled boy who's desperately refuting eye contact with him. He seriously wonders how this kid can't have some black roots in his family tree, his curls are so tight and course, like a brillow pad.

"I hate oranges. And that's the only reason," he warns with a pointed glare, sending Jacob into a nodding fit.

"O-of course. Thanks."

He begins to dig into his oatmeal, breaking his burnt toast apart and skimming it into the thick substance.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Not that I really want to hear your annoyingly faggy voice, but whatever."

"Why do you do that?"

Puck's dark eyes narrow. Here the little bastard goes again. He's not sure if he likes this new thing of being caught off gaurd. It feels weird. Disconcerting.

"What?"

"Why do you do that? What you just did?"

Puck feels a squirming sensation in his gut. Where is this kid going with this?

"Enlighten me, Lady."

Kurt actually smiles at that, but it's still hiding something, a mask.

"_That_. Getting all macho male practice when it's clear that you actually _want _to be sitting here with us."

Puck feels the knot tighten.

"Look," he says darkly, "don't start soakin' your panties thinkin' some shit like that. I just like this table. I've sat here for over six months straight which basically makes it my property, and you two are just a bonus."

Kurt's blue eyes sparkle - Actually fucking sparkle - at this comment.

"Really?" His tone teasing.

Puck realizes how he just sounded. Even Jacob seems close to breaking a smile.

"C'mon it's too fuckin' easy. I mean look at this pathetic sack of Jew. Glasses made from actual two liters, a fuckin' hair-do straight from the Frederick Douglas autobiagraphy, and no visible spine. And you -"

"Yes?" Kurt supplies, clearly amused.

"Some rainbow waving friend of Dorothy, hip switchin', pasty faced fag-boy with a voice that even Mickey Mouse wishes he could score? Dude... too easy, and _entertaining_."

Puck is sure this will have the expected effect. It definitely does on Jacob judging by the way he seems to be melting into the table. But that fucking fag kid... Damn, he's actually chuckling. That same stupid, but sort of intriguing one he did the other day in group. Puck is bemused. No qualms about it.

For a moment there's a pause, a tension enveloping their table.

"I find you interesting too, Noah," he says simply.

He then gathers his tray, and turns to leave, that same switch in his hips as prominent as ever as he nearly sache's out of the mess hall.

"That kid is fuckin' weird, dude."

"I-I guess," Jacob stammers out. He moves with a shaking hand to grab his orange.

"Gimme that, Jew nut!" and Puck snatches it, his eyes still focused on the place that Kurt boy disappeared from.

_What. The. Hell._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I probably won't comment on every chapter but I just wanted to relate that the chapter sizes will vary. Some will be shorter, maybe painfully so, then others (this being an example). Otherwise same warnings from before apply, and again, I owns nothin'.

* * *

It had been a week. One week since the kid's arrival, and Puck had yet to beat his face in.

He attributed this fact of course to Dr. Schuester's warning, the threat of jail draining the normal urge to pummel the mouthy little fudge packer.

That was the easy explanation anyway.

But why did it feel like it was teetering on an excuse? Was it really only the promise of painful restriction and harship behind bars that was keeping him from beating Blue Eyes into a bloody mess of shit?

Hell, who knew. But one thing Puck was certain of was that he was indeed holding back.

Not that he was holding back on the endless slander and mockery. Oh, no. He came with hard, unrelenting taunts that would easily stab at an individual's heart until it bled dry. Even outward verbal threats, promises of some sort of physical pain seemed to only make the bastard's grin widen. Shurking off the words like an irksome fly buzzing too closely, or even worse: like a Mother being amused by her infant's wobbly, uncoordinated first steps.

It was supposed to be infuriating.

But it wasn't...

It just made him want to try harder.

Good prey was hard to come by these days. He had had his fill with most of these shit sacks for just over six months now. He was entitled to a new challenge.

Yeah, he was. This being his final thought as he swung his large slippered feet onto the boy's plate of beads, sending some scattering on the floor.

Puck relaxed into his chair, his smile mocking, his hands laced together to support his head as he eyed the kid for a reaction.

He wasn't surprised when he got nothing. Just hoping, but not surprised. The little fruit barely glanced up as he continued to string together some multicolored disaster of a bracelet in silence.

"Lady." Puck greeted, his feet un-moving.

"Noah."

Said with such ease. Almost a familiarity. Puck had a nasty habit of hating that name. He learned to accept it however coming from that mouth. It had an airy, lilt that didn't make it sound so horrible.

Arts and fucking crafts. What the hell was the point?

"What the fuck is the point of this anyway?" Puck couldn't help but ask aloud. There was an honesty to the question that failed concealment, and for a moment, he didn't care. Just truthfully curious.

"Truly?"

"Yeah Boy George, truly. I don't get the appeal of stickin' some thread through some shitty dollar store beads and pretending that you're making jewelry for the Queen. Though I guess I can see how you can like it. If you're pretendin' the string is a line of _dick_ and the beads are a representation of your _ass_."

His blue eyes narrow, but his grin doesn't abade. He simply grabs a piece of extra string and pushes the nearly empty container of beads forward.

"Try it."

Again, Puck is rendered speechless. But only for a second. The reality of what is being requested suddenly hits him like a bottle to his skull.

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me faggy. I don't do beadwork or any other Martha Stewart approved hobby."

This did nothing to deter the pale skinned boy as he gestured again for Puck to retrieve the string from his hand.

"You asked."

And they stay like that. Puck staring with wide eyes, his lazy posture contradicting the traffic now running madly through his brain. And Kurt, an easy smile, hand outstretched with a single line of string trailing from it without a care.

Puck rolls his eyes dramatically and plucks the string away from the noticeably soft palm. His dark eyes avoiding blue, knowing that they were probably shining again with that triumphant fucking gleam that churns his stomach. Puck roughly rummages through what's left of the cheap, plastic trinkets spaced out in the clear container, and pulls a few out.

"Now thread it through."

God, the dude actually sounds encouraging. Like he's nothing short of full on fucking delighted at this turn of events. Puck hates himself as he moves to thread his first bead. It's a struggle, his eyes squinting in concentration, his teeth gnawing his bottom lip, but he gets it. Then he tries another. And then another. By his tenth bead, he forgets how gay it is. He forgets that he shouldn't even be sitting here, trying to strike up conversation with some lily footed fag kid.

"So how long you been doin' shit like this?"

Kurt looks thoughtful, his brow lifting slightly though his eyes remain on his work. Puck notes how clumsy he probably looks compared to the other boy's swift, expedient movements.

"I don't know. I guess since I was around four. I used to do stuff like this with my Mo-"

A pause. "Mother."

Puck feels it. It's cold, the way that last word is spit out; like venom. The normally calm exterior frosting over. The hesitation is the first time Puck can recall any sign of distress: an actual chink in this kid's armor. He doesn't comment on it though.

"You didn't have much of a chance did you?"

"Hm?" Kurt had gone somewhere else. He shook his head, refocusing his eyes on his hands in order to resume.

"Being a fudger. I mean, if you were doin' this kind of crap as a kid. It was only a matter of time before you started tuggin' on actual dicks instead a makin' em' from play do."

The blue eyes seem thoughtful for a moment, or maybe jilted. Puck can't be sure.

"Maybe."

Puck is again surprised. He had been expecting some snippy remark. Not that: some half assed omission.

"Maybe?"

"But I can't imagine why anybody would choose this for themselves-"

"Yeah, cause it's fuckin' gross."

"No. Because it's horribly, irrevocably painful."

"Well, I imagine takin' it up the ass can be."

Crystal with untainted sadness just underlying the surface like a frozen lake. Puck can see it now. Maybe that's why those eyes are so hauntingly blue: they're witholding too much in their depths.

The kid's eyes don't match the quirked lips, turning up in one of those feigned grin's Puck is used to observing now with him. A hollow chuckle escapes between the pink flesh of his mouth before he proceeds.

"It can be. Very. But I think you'll be able to judge for yourself, what, when you end up going to Fairview. And I heard they like to break the one's who think they're the baddest first. Bent, buckled, and _swallowing_."

The blue color seemed to darken. The snide, guarded exterior returning just that quickly.

"Good luck with finding lube though. Your best bet would probably be to sneak some butter from the cafeteria. I recommend that over spit anyway."

Puck is glaring at him now. He doesn't like this one - this version of Kurt. He realizes it in that very moment. He's too soft for the iciness of his statements. It doesn't suit someone who... Who what? Should be happy?

Puck misses the laugh he heard in group the other day. He hates what he sees sitting in front of him...

"Don't. Ever. Accuse me of bein' some faggot." He didn't even realize he was doing it until he registers the sincerely aghast expression on the kid's face. Puck's hand had shot out and grabbed the thin wrists, pinning them together like a vice.

"Let go of me!"

Puck's hand is shaking with rage. For just a few obscured seconds they stare at each other: Puck furious, dominating. Kurt, vulnerable, frightened.

"Ever." He reiterates with a hiss. Then he pushes the soft hands away, knocks the container off the table causing the remaining beads to spill obnoxiously over the floor, and stalks out of the room leaving the remaining residents and staff staring after him.

Kurt winces at the sound of the door slamming shut; his hand spread protectively over his chest willing his heart to slow its pace.

Some of the patients have already returned to their work. Kurt notes a few who are still staring: an overweight black girl with large, sad eyes, and an Asian girl wearing a beenie and too much eye make up.

He looks down at the table, if anything just to avoid their sympathetic stares. And then he sees it...

It's simple. No real decorative or creative quality about it. But still perfect. Kurt gingerly picks it up, his eyes inexplicably swelling with moisture.

A bracelet spelling out one word: **_Lady_**.

Why this incites this sort of reaction from him, he definitely has no clue. But he can't help but place it gingerly on his wrist; the purple, blue, and silver standing out against his pale skin, and tuck his hand away under the table.


	4. Chapter 4

Group was the first time Puck saw him again since the infamous Arts and Crafts incident.

Puck had keenly avoided the boy for several days. Forgoing sitting at their table during meals, going straight to his room following his medication intake and other pre-scheduled rituals.

Again. Another first for Puck. He was actually hiding out from the little shit.

But as he had agreed with Dr. Schuester to do his damndest to avoid seeing the inside of Fairview - maybe even the Pen if his luck was really shitty - he was forced to face him; at least for this.

Puck sat quietly, completely zoned out, but not bothering anybody who was sharing. He just didn't feel like talking today. Or listening apparently.

That is until _that_ voice permeated his foggy mind.

"Dr. Schuester. I think I'm ready to share."

Puck trailed his gaze over the thin boy with his hand still in the air.

And then he saw it. The bracelet. The bracelet he had made. Not really _for_ the kid. Just some subconscious project that aided him with maintaining conversation. Just some stupid, useless, pieces of plastic that had kept him occupied, no other meaning. But there it was, right smack dab on the same wrist he had crushed roughly in his grip the other day.

Kurt caught his eye, saw that he had noticed the piece dangling lightly from his wrist. Puck snapped his eyes away, looking at the floor in a robust attempt to mask the weirdly satisfied feeling knotted in his stomach.

"That's great Kurt. Please, do."

Kurt nodded his ascent, then cleared his throat.

"I um, I'm not a complainer. I never have been. But sometimes I do have to wonder why God would allow so many terrible things to happen to people."

"You shouldn't blame God. It's not right."

The big black girl. Puck forgot her name. Melissa? Or, Mercury or some shit. She was normally pretty quiet. Apparently talking about God was the straw for her. He vaguely recalls her story: depressed, compensates by binge eating, scratches herself with dull objects.

"I don't blame him. But I question his motives. Is what we go through some sort of test? Is it some silly game for him just to see how strong we're supposed to become afterward? What is the point exactly?"

"Rationalizing is a perfectly normal way of trying to make sense of your feelings Kurt."

"Yeah but not with God. You don't rationalize that."

Puck heard the challenge within her tone.

"I'm sorry if it offends you. But I can't make sense of it. And when I can't make sense of it, I tend to leave it alone. Cruelty like that... I just can't make sense of it."

"Do you realize what you're saying is completely blasphemous? You're gonna go to hell."

"Whoa - Mercedes, we shouldn't accuse Kurt of -"

"According to what you probably believe I'm pretty damned either way. Which is it then? Which is the bigger offense? Am I going to burn for being some insignificant little faggot, or am I burning because I don't _believe_ enough in some entity that's supposed to keep me safe but never bothers?"

Several of the group members looked thoughtful. Some gnawing their lips and averting their eyes, a sense of empathy oozing from them, glowing like a subdued aura.

Puck had enough of it.

"C'mon black chick. You know we're not supposed to be peddlin' that religious shit in here. If I wanted to talk about church crap I would go to church. On purpose."

Dr. Schuester nodded in agreement. "I'm afraid Noah's got a point. Let's keep the religious talk to a minimum. This is about you guys, not your religious beliefs. This place is about feeling safe and open. Not judged or ridiculed no matter what differences we may discuss."

"G-G-God's not the, p-p-problem. Not r-r-r-really."

The Emo Asian chick. She never talked. Puck agreed with that choice. It was painful to hear her try. That stutter was so bad, it actually made him want to smack her to keep her from skipping like a record.

"T-t-that's w-w-why we're here. To help ours-s-selves."

Dr. Schuester clapped his hands together. "Well said Tina. On that note we're going to be concluding group for today. I'll see you guys tomorrow same time."

Puck practically drags himself to his feet and exits the room without looking back.

He was wearing it. Like it actually meant something. Puck is thoroughly confused. But a very tiny part of him, in the deepest most secretive part of himself, there's something that feels like elation.

Maybe it was in fact that elated part that drove him to interject during group.

And that's when he felt it: this surge of desire to be protective.

Maybe God couldn't keep the kid stay safe outside these walls, but Puck feels oddly compelled to do his part while he's inside them.

Or at least cut the kid a little more slack.


	5. Chapter 5

"I was wondering when you were going to come around. It's been a while."

He loved that voice. It was nearly sinful how seductive it could be.

Puck licks his lips, his eyes beckoning the girl forward. She obliges, lunging at him with the ferocity of a starved feline, kissing, sucking, biting his lips.

Quinn was a dirty blonde. It was an accurate term to describe both her hair color, and her character. Puck had hooked up with her once or twice since his stint in the Vista Point behavioral rehab center. Not all the way, just a blow job here and there. Heavy petting, kissing, even a little dry humping.

She was one of those privileged porcelain dolls with a Daddy complex, an eating disorder, and a strong sting of projected self hate that often came out in belittling, judgemental spouts against others.

But she was gorgeous. And sort of a slut. And Puck's a dude. A teenaged dude with needs. So there you have it. The sum of their relationship was sucking face, body parts, and acting indifferent every other moment between.

She was licking his neck now, fingers running through his mohawk like she owned it.

"Damn, babe. Somebody's missed Daddy."

"God yes. I've missed Daddy so bad. I could practically taste him whenever I closed my eyes."

Puck hisses as she nips his neck, his hands rubbing along her pert little ass.

This is great. He knows it. Letting her do this to him. It's exactly what he needed. A quickie in the corner of the laundry room. A quick nut, no strings attached. He hears himself moan, feels her fingers drag over the front of his uniformed chest, raking across his stomach and then stopping at the elastic of his pants. She looks up at him from a kneeling position as her fingers fumble with unknotting the draw string.

Puck never noticed how bright her eyes are. Jade. A beautiful jade color, but so bright they could almost be blue.

A mack truck might've felt better.

He covers his mouth as the puke stirs, burning his esophagus.

"Stop," he manages to mumble.

"Oh you know I can't do that," she retorts playfully loosening the strings with a swift tug.

"Seriously. Stop."

"Daddy's getting a little nervous I see. That's okay. I'll help you feel all better so we can keep playing."

"I said stop!" And he pushes her roughly away from him, the bile coming up too easily after that. Puck hates himself for eating that hefty breakfast burrito this morning as it spills onto the tiled floor of the laundry room.

Quinn is staring at him with wide eyes, clearly disgusted at the display. Ironic. The bitch threw up more times in a day then Puck has in the last few years of his life. Who the fuck was she to get all uppity about a few chunks?

"God. What the hell is wrong with you?"

He's still bent over, spitting up the last remaining remnants of his upchuck.

"Just. We can't do this. I don't want to do this anymore. We're done."

"What?"

"I said. We're. Done."

She stood up slowly, her eyes glistening, hateful.

"Oh. So what you're telling me is some limp dicked, coke snorting drug addict, trailer park piece of shit is done with _me_? That's rich. You really have some fucking nerve Puckerman."

If she wasn't a woman, she'd been bleeding from at least one of the orifaces on her face. Turns out most of the stuff she spat was true. Hence him wishing that she'd suddenly sprout a dick so he could lay her out without the guilt.

But instead he remained bent over, avoiding her eyes. Those fucking eyes. Even after she had slammed the door behind her, the thought of those eyes made him feel ill all over again.

He had been reminded of a certain pair of blue eyes. While a girl was about to go down on him.

What the _fuck_ did that mean?

* * *

Puck almost turned around to head the other way.

There he was: old blue eyes himself, a few people ahead in the lunch line. Fuck. Seeing that dopey smile drift across his lips while he and that Jewtastic dweeb talked about God knows what, was almost enough to make him puke again.

He sighed, hoping that he would just go un-noticed. He needed to eat after all. He sucked in an unsteady breath however when he caught sight of the next person over from Lady face.

Quinn.

What were the odds?

Well, shitty obviously. But damn, Puck really was tempted to just bolt. He didn't have it in him to deal with any resounding drama without needing to crack skulls to relieve the tension building within himself. He really didn't do discomfort well.

Then he heard it. Quinn had found another target apparently. Her words drifted back to him as if she had truly meant them for his ears instead of the black chick (Mercedes? - he strained momentarily to remember) she was currently hurling them at.

"Aren't you piling a bit much on your plate?"

"What do you care?"

"Oh, I don't. Just wondering how much more of an elephant you need to become before you realize that food won't fix you."

It was harsh. Even for Puck.

No. Wait. That _was_ Puck. Those words, that mask of contempt. It was like someone holding up a mirror for him.

It was like you could visibly see the light leave the black girl's brown eyes as Quinn smirked triumphantly.

Even long after the girl had sat down to eat, it was clear from the vacant expression and lack of interaction with that goth asian she usually chats up that her spirit was aching, bleeding out like a leaked oil drum.

Puck sat alone, observing.

There was something about the way the boy's shoulders sagged a little as he sat with Jew fro, that Puck knew immediately that Kurt could understand what that Mercedes girl felt, and was clearly hurt on her behalf.

Hell the dude had been subjected to a managerie of the finest insults Puck could muster since he'd arrived at the facility. He was sure the kid had no choice but to get used to that kind of shit from people; probably had to deal with it all his life.

Another first. He actually started to feel a sting of guilt burrow in the pit of his stomach. Perplexed was a nice, long, SAT type word to describe his current state of mind Puck thought to himself.

Perplexed. Perplexed at this feeling when he figures the whole world fucking owes him. Puck had decided that a long time ago. Perplexed that he could associate his own internalized feelings of guilt with witnessing some other fuck wad that had nothing to do with him get put in her place.

Perplexed indeed. Good word.


	6. Chapter 6

They were idiots to not make them keep their doors locked at night. Puck was sure most of the kids never actually stayed put.

The institution takes the position on accessibility being equal to justifiable safety. So when the doors are open, there's no ability for the residents to try anything... Hurt themselves, carve their room mates up in their sleep, suffocate themselves with their own pillow cases, shit like that. Unlocked doors. And the staff doing hall checks every half hour. That was the key to maintaining a supposedly stable, safe environment.

But Puck was a thief. A real fucking choice thief at that. He could side step the orderlies in his sleep.

So Puck was roaming. His room just felt too stifling. He had to get out. Had to move around until he felt tired enough to try to sleep again. He wonders if years of snorting have given him a permanent pattern of sleep disturbance and bouts of insomnia that finding normalcy can't fix. Sure he's been sober for a while now but he definitely can't help but ponder the possible permanent damages he'd brought upon himself.

How annoying is it that he finally kicks the habit and now all he has to show for it are some stupid stories about his drug induced mishaps, sleepless nights, and more self hatred then his broad shoulders could handle most days.

He hated thinking. But here he was, wandering aimlessly, and thinking. His brain on overdrive as he hoped for it to lull itself into automatic shut down before he rounded the entire first floor.

That little fag kid. Why did his mind seem to always find itself back to him? He should be thinking about Quinn, about eating her out, fingering her until she's biting her fist to stifle the screams...

Or even riding. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ridden his motorcycle. It had been everything to him at one point. That was until his cravings became too much and he was short on cash. Then it was history, only leaving a trail of memories and dust behind it as the dude he sold it to sped off into the night. He didn't even make back half of what the bike was worth. But hell, that's the nature of the beast. You'll do anything to rid the symptoms of withdrawal and feel that uncensored, self deluded feeling of invincibility again.

He had still been wearing it. The kid had still kept wearing that damn bracelet every day since Puck had first made it. Like it was a diamond encrested gold band or some shit.

Puck smiled to himself at the thought. Fancy.

"Shh. It's okay. Don't cry."

Holy fuck nut. Was he thinking of the kid so much that he was actually hearing him inside his head?

"Shhh. Please. It'll be okay."

Puck shook his head, and realized to his intense relief, that the voice was coming from behind a nearby door. The girl's bathroom.

He knew that voice. It belonged to _him_. The very object of his thoughts. But then as he laid his ear against the door, he gathered that the kid wasn't alone, and that whoever he was with was bawling like crazy.

Puck wasn't sure why. But he had to know. Was the little fag sneaking around at night with one of the other residents?

It wasn't that hard to imagine. Puck was sure the guy wasn't the only flamer in the entire place. And he was sort of... _attractive _he supposed.

One thing he didn't understand was why the thought of the kid running around made him feel surprisingly put out?

Whatever. Curiousity. That was it. Old fashioned curiousity. This weird possessiveness just comes from the fact that Puck feels like he owns him; kind of like a toy. Ever since he first locked eyes with the pale, cup cake of a boy. Lady face was the promise of more interesting prey. Someone else to torture and slowly unravel. That was all.

He used his self deemed ninja skills to silently nudge open the door. The bathroom was huge, a narrow row of toilets lined against the wall and at the very end of the last stall, Lady face himself, cradling someone that Puck couldn't quite make out through the dull light provided by the moon; its bluish tint pooling in through the slit of a window over head.

He laid against the first panel, his back going rigid at the cold feel of the wood. And he listened. Harder then he would ever dare to admit aloud. Puck then chanced a peak around the edge of the stall, peering with determined focus.

It was that black girl: Mercedes.

Kurt was gently pulling something out of her grip.

A fork.

Probably the very same one she used to eat lunch earlier today.

Between her empty sobs, the lithe teen managed to pull away, taking some torn tissue paper and then with such care it actually made Puck feel a pang of jealousy, dabbing at the inside of the broken girl's arm.

"It'll be okay Mercedes."

"I-I'm too disgusting. N-n-no one, will ever, l-love me." She hiccupped, sobbing between words.

Puck expected some failed attempt to state some bogus, sappy, affirmation. Tell her how if she's just patient someone will come along, or that all she needs is to love herself and it'll all turn out fine. Puck expected it. But that's not what he got.

_"Smile, though your heart is aching. Smile even though it's breaking."_

Puck was again rendered speechless by this unassuming little bastard. He was actually fucking singing.

_"When there are clouds in the sky you'll get by._

_If you smile through the tears and sorrows. Smile and maybe tomorrow. _

_You'll find that __life is still worth while. If you just..."_

Puck lets the melodious sound wash over him like water. Angelic... Yeah, that might be the right word to describe the soft, haunting words of a song he was sure he'd heard many times before. But never like this...

_"Light up your face with gladness._

_Hide every trace of sadness. Although a tear maybe, ever so near. That's the time you must keep on trying._

_Smile what's the use of crying. You'll find that life is still worthwhile. If you just... Smile."_

He had to remember to breathe when the last note rung out into sterile space like a lingering ghost. It was beautiful, his voice. It was unlike anything Puck had ever heard. The pitch was high, much too close to a woman's range, but smooth, vevelty. A quiet power that completely enraptured him.

Mercedes had stopped crying her eyes out. She simply allowed the other boy to hold her and stroke her hair as she sniffled in an oddly comfortable silence.

Puck's arm was wet. But he couldn't remember touching anything wet when he crawled into position.

Instinctively he felt his face, tracing his fingertips over his cheeks.

Wetness...

Aw, fuck that.

Puck quietly unglued himself from the floor and successfully snuck back out of the room. He would never, ever, tell a living soul about tonight. Ever.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Thanks for those kind souls who have reviewed. I very much appreciate it. Please keep em' comin. Feedback makes me smile... and somehow manages to inspire my trigger finger, aka - 'my update finger.'

* * *

"I see you've decided to join us at _your_ table Noah."

"What are you fuckin' keeping tabs on me? You some sort of stalker or some shit, fag tag?"

A soft smile was what Puck received in response. Then a quiet, "Only for you Noah."

It wasn't completely surprising that the fruit bowl had begun to attract some flies. It was now a pretty regular occurence to see Mercedes and that stuttering mess of an Asian girl accompanying Lady face during meal times.

Some times he even spotted them in between classes or during their scheduled leisure breaks together. A quintessential fag and his hags.

"Don't I feel fuckin' special," he sneered while ripping his sandwhich nearly in half with his teeth; chewing like a man eternally scorned.

He spotted the Emo chick giving him a disgusted once over.

"What. The fuck. Are you staring at, Emo?"

"N-n-nothing. Y-y-you just. Eat f-f-f -"

"F-f-f-f, what? Fuck get it out already."

"Funny. You eat, f-funny."

"S'that so? This comin' from someone who can't manage to write a word without shaking and sliding all over the god damn place, a person needs a fuckin' road map to figure out what sort of hyroglyphic nonsense you managed to scribble."

"Leave her alone Puckerman."

The table fell silent. Puck could've swore the heavens had opened up and doused the table, the light shining brightly on one easily distinguishable mass of Jew hair. He laughed. He couldn't help it.

"Damn, Jewbilee. You've gotta be kiddin'? You and her? It ain't happenin'. So stop tryin' to earn brownie points to get in between her slit."

"That's incredibly rude!" fired Mercedes as she glared daggers at Puck.

"What's rude is your dirty black hands touchin' my table."

"Not to mention racist," Added Jacob under his breath, his face alight with obvious embarrassment. Perhaps even repressed anger.

It was clear the entire table was seething at this point. He reveled in their anger. Gloried in their submissive, wronged expressions.

But one face didn't carry the same expression. Pale skin, harboring a wry smile, blue eyes piercing him uncomfortably - this marked the look of an un-moved, indifferent Kurt.

"Nothin' to add Lady?" He prompted, hoping with a sudden surging desperation that he had managed to hide his disappointment at the other boy's aloofness.

"How's your sandwhich?"

Puck tilted his head, watching the kid in curiousity. Searching for the punch-line to the question.

"Bout as good as you would find a pipin' hot pile of dick."

Kurt burst out laughing. He actually fucking laughed. And it was the same laugh that Puck had secretly longed to hear ever since he had heard it that day in group therapy. It was infectious at best.

"I take it you mean delicious then."

Puck conceded to commit the picture of the flushed face, giddy with delight and amusement to memory before supplying a short but sweet, "Whatever."

The occupants of the table were stunned into silence. They each shot confused looks across their plates at each other, but said nothing. Lunch continued on without another outburst. Puck didn't feel like keeping up with the shit slinging when he really _was _too busy enjoying his food.

It was the first time that Puck, nor anyone else had stormed from the table before chow time was officially up.

* * *

Puck was happy that the facility was pretty richy. Almost resort like in some ways. Well, despite the malfunctioning, shitty vending machines. They did offer a lot of activities and 'means of self expression' as they called it.

This was one of his favorites. Really the only one he allowed himself to indulge in publicly.

He eyed his opposition, the ball slick with sweat as he fended them off with some well practiced dribbling.

There was the blonde surfer looking kid: Sam.

Puck thought he was okay. The kid could play anyway. He kept to himself and always seemed to be smiling for whatever reason. He was like the fucking American epitome of the boy next door.

Yet here he was. In this boxed off shit hole. Like all of them. Not even his blonde mop and toothy grin could hide the track marks on his arms... even though the kid tried with his long sleeved shirts.

Then there was the foreign kid. Something that started with an 'R'. He just dubbed him Lucky Charm since he didn't really care to know his actual name anyway. Puck sort of forgot his story. Something about having a nervous break down soon after coming to America. There were rumors of course. Either the kid tried to kill his sponsoring family in their sleep, or run some kid over with his vespa, or... Fuck it, who cared?

A nervous break down at sixteen. What the fuck was the world coming to?

Puck suddenly found himself looking past them. Out of the corner of his eye. He noticed the figures sitting poised in the background.

The three ass-kateers: Lady, Black girl, and the Goth. All giggling and pointedly staring from the bleachers.

Puck was annoyed. Well mostly annoyed. It never hurt to have an audience. Sure he had his shirt off, flexed his muscles a little more then necessary, and only felt the need to pass the ball to Jacob when hell froze over. That didn't mean shit though. Being annoyed just made more sense.

Damn. He had stopped his dribble. Too much thinking and now he was stuck.

"Jacob! Get open! Fuck!"

"Er, okay," and the scraggly teen moved around sluggishly, trying to shake Lucky Charm but failing miserably.

"Urgh! Hey Leprechaun!"

The shorter brunette spun around to face Puck... And was met by with a ball hitting his chest. Before he could blink however, Puck had knocked it away again and was pushing toward the basket.

Blondie had caught up, standing his ground. Puck shook his head at the kid as he took off at full speed and collided, letting the ball slip from his grip, bounce off the backboard, and fall through the net... Sam was on the ground, gingerly touching his lip while sprawled on the gym floor.

"What're ya playin' at Puckerman?"

"Playin' to win short stack. That's how we play in the States."

"Well I call a foul, man."

Puck huffs. Why does someone always have to talk back?

"Look Lucky Charm. Your luck was falty today. You fuckers lost. Me and Jewbilee won. End of story."

"Rory. It's cool."

Rory. That was it. The kid bit his lip, then nodded. What was the dude, Ken Doll's attack dog or some shit? This was getting hilarious fast.

Sam had stood up, wiping his lip with his sleeve. He held out his hand to Puck.

"Good game Puckerman."

What? What the hell was this?

Puck just stared. I mean, his confusion wouldn't allow him to do anything else. Sam exhales sheepishly, and brings his hand back to his side.

"Well, if you gentleman will excuse me. I'm going to dismiss myself. I, um, have other stuff to do. Like not get horribly mangled playing something I suck at," Jacob calls out. Then he turns on his heel, followed closely by that Rory midget. Sam goes to pick up the ball and returns to the foul line.

Puck eyes the dude with curiousity, and finds himself standing in position underneath the hoop, waiting to retrieve the rebound.

He sinks the first shot. Then the second. On the third one, Puck has to ask.

"So how long since your last trip?"

Puck nodds his head toward the kid's arm, making sure to indicate the track marks he knew existed underneath the long sleeved thermal. The ball makes a resounding _clunk_ on the rim. Sam swallows nervously.

"Bout four months now."

Puck tosses the ball back. Sam sinks another shot, his full concentration back on the task at hand.

"It's cool Ken Doll. My demon was coke."

Sam seems a bit more at ease, a hint of a smile on his obnoxious, Angelina Jolie-like lips.

"Demon. Think that's the perfect word to describe it."

"No shit, Blondie."

"Noah." A new, much higher voice states. Puck notices Kurt standing there, his hands clasped behind his back. Blacky and Emo seemed to have disappeared.

"Fruit bowl." He greets. "So where are your flies?"

"I'm assuming you mean Mercedes and Tina, and they went for snacks."

"Look if you really are a friend to Wheezy, you need to tell her that the last thing she needs to be doin' is snackin'."

His pouty lips purse into a thin line, clearly locking away the retort itching to escape. Then his blue eyes dart over to Blondie.

"Hi. I'm Kurt Hummel."

"Hey. Sam. Sam Evans."

They shake hands, Sam chuckling at the obviously faggy way the pale hand barely grips his.

"I noticed your form. It's good."

"Oh-um-thanks. I guess."

Oh this isn't happening, Puck thinks irritably.

"Fags R Us, hit on motherfuckers on your own time. I'd like very much to not be privy to that shit."

Narrowed slits of blue swirling with emotion is all he receives in response. But only momentarily, as they resume roving over blonde locks, widening in interest.

"I think I've seen you during meals but not in group. How come?"

"Oh. Um, that's cause there're two different groups that Dr. Schuester runs. They're scheduled on separate days."

"Hm. Well, that explains it."

Why is he just standing here? Why hasn't he left yet? Puck can't seem to find his words or the mobility in his feet for that matter. He's just... There.

"Most days in there, they just sort of blend together. But every now and again it's actually sort of nice to just - I don't know, talk about stuff."

And Kurt is smiling - but a new one that Puck hasn't seen before today- it's flirty, almost seductive.

"Yeah, well I'm not really one for show and tell. Unless otherwise provoked."

Holy shit was Kurt leering at this kid? Alright, that is fuckin' it!

"Hey. Lady. The kid ain't your type. So cut the shit already!"

This seems to bring the Sam kid back to reality. His cheeks are flushed, hands rubbing along the sides of his draw stringed pants awkwardly.

"Er. Well, I guess I'll see you around Kurt. Later Puckerman."

"I hope so," Kurt practically mewls.

"Whatever, _Bro_."

Sam walks away briskly leaving the two alone. Puck shakes his head, oddly relieved for some reason, and starts bouncing the ball, lining himself up at the free throw line. A few beats of silence pass between the two, enough time for Puck to land a shot and set up for the next.

"So?"

"So, what?"

Puck could see him out of the corner of his eye. His arms were crossed defiantly over his chest, his stance rigid.

"So what was that?"

"Besides you eye fucking Blondie? Not sure. I'd go for highly disturbing though." He shoots another shot, sinks it flawlessly. Kurt watches, unfazed, but yet still focused.

"Have you always been this way?"

Puck sneers. Then shoots again. Fourth one in a row he'd landed, he counts in his mind.

"You mean studly," he states mockingly. He holds the ball under one arm, then flexes his other bicep, kissing it for good measure. Puck doesn't miss the flicker of blue that roves over his body, a faint hint of appreciation flashing, but steathily replaced by cool disinterest.

"Controlling. Do you always have to control everything?"

Puck releases his fifth shot. It bounces off the front of the rim. He swallows, reaching to grab the ball that rebounds back to him.

"I find, _Kurt_, that it feels a hell of a lot better then being controlled. Don't you think?"

It was the first time that Puck had ever used his actual name aloud. It seemed to surprise the other boy as much as it had surprised him.

Kurt doesn't respond. His teeth knede his bottom lip, and then he walks up to Puck with a solid determination.

Was he going to try to kiss him? Why can't Puck move his fucking feet again?

He stops just a few inches short of the taller boy, staring intently into his dark orbs. Then without a word, gently pulls the ball away from him. Puck lets him, watching him curiously.

Kurt dribbles, sort of like a six year old just learning would, then his tongue pokes out, running over his full lips as he steadies himself, targeting the basket with his fierce gaze. Then he shoots... And sinks the shot.

He spins around facing Puck, an obvious smile in his eyes. Puck keeps observing the kid unhindered, his hands on his hips, sweat rolling down his toned torso in ringlets. Smug would be an understatement. The fucking kid was glowing.

"Sometimes it's good to go outside of your comfort zone, _Puck_."

And the pale figure retreats, switching his hips as sinfully as ever, disappearing behind the gym door which shifted back into place with a soft click.

The silence felt stifling. Puck felt stifled, constricted, even though he was completely alone.


	8. Chapter 8

"If it's cool. I wanted to uh - to read something. You know, share it with the group."

That same stupid look of shock echoed across the room as loud as a cannon blast despite being silent, sweeping, and very real.

Dr. Schuester cleared his throat. It was obvious the quack was more than a little hesitant.

"Um. Sure, Noah. Please, do."

"Um, alright. I wrote something. Last night. I couldn't sleep again and my mind just wouldn't stop fuckin' buzzin'. It's not really a poem or anything. It's more like, just shit that was buzzin' in my head."

Puck looks up at Dr. Schuester who nods encouragingly. Puck clears his throat and begins reading.

"It's crazy feeling stuck. Like wearing cement shoes, wading in a creek that keeps rising, getting deeper as it swallows you up. I hate it. That feeling. I hate sitting, or being still. Not doing, not being. It reminds me of when I was a kid. I never understood a lot of things around me. The liquor smell, the blood stains, the constant hurt. But I was stuck in it. Stuck. So I adapted, fought, swam as hard as I could to try to get upstream. But all I did was end up in the same place, unchanged. I wasn't supposed to be better, just invited to be worse. Expected to be worse. Easy enough."

"Wow. Noah, that was really well done."

"I didn't do it to be good. I just, I was bored so..."

"Fair enough," Dr. Schuester says, his smile genuine.

Puck can't help it when his eyes travel across the room and find themselves swimming in blue.

Kurt shoots him a smile. It's new, something he hasn't seen before. Not seductive or mocking, or any of the other one's Puck has noted thus far. It's warm, tentative. It literally envelopes Puck.

Puck stays silent the rest of the group session. Solemn, lost in his own thoughts. Mostly though, he's day dreaming about that smile.

* * *

"How did you manage that?"

The voice is silky, wrapping around him like a wool scarf, warm and perfect against harsh winds.

Puck looks up briefly, catching the thin finger pointing at the cigarette gracing his fingertips.

"I'm cool with one of the orderlies. He cuts me a break every now and again. Let's me indulge."

Puck blows out the smoke carefully. He keeps his eyes trained ahead of him, overlooking the vast assortment of forrest in the distance beckoning to him.

"Hm. Guess it pays to be an asshole sometimes."

"Guess so. What do you want anyway?"

Kurt leans against the wall next to Puck, his eyes also searching the distance.

"I was looking for you. I wanted to tell you something."

"Can't imagine what that would be Lady," more smoke curls from his lips.

He turns to face the surly teen who remains facing forward.

"What you wrote. It was... It was touching."

Puckerman actually snorts at that. "Touching? Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Look Fancy, the last thing I need is some fudge packer goin' out of his way to give me shit, alright?"

The smaller boy falls silent; solemn as his eyes trace over the other boy warily.

"You think I came to make fun of you?"

"Fuck should I know?"

"Well, I didn't. I meant it. I didn't know you could be so... poetic. It's a nice change from the usual bullying prick I get the privilege of interacting with everyday."

"Yeah, well. Whatever. I told you I was bored. Sometimes I write to pass the time."

"And sometimes I play with shitty dollar store beads and make bracelets."

"And sing."

_Shit._

"What? What do you mean?"

Puck could just play it off. Say something crass about fags being predisposed to belt cause of their overused throat muscles.

He decided on honesty. He wasn't entirely sure why either.

"I heard you. The other night. With that girl."

Kurt's face reddened, the blush seeping over his cheeks.

"Speaking of stalking..."

"What are you shittin' me? I had to go to the bathroom."

"Not that there's like ten other bathrooms closer to the dorms -"

"You're such a fuckin'..." Puck loses his words. His agitation was starting to feel a little like defeat.

"A fucking what? A pole hopper? Cum bucket? What? What colorful name do you have picked out for me today?"

The cigarette was being crushed between his thin lips, an intense air building between them as they stared at each other unfailingly.

"You're... A really good singer. Your voice, I've never heard anything like it. See you around Lady."

Puck flicked the cigarette butt through the chainlink fence and retreated back toward the building. Kurt watched him in silence, a subtle quirk of his soft lips inexplicably making an appearance.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Just a warning, this chapter contains some pretty harsh mentioning of abuse. I don't want to spoil it so I won't specify but just wanted to give you guys a heads up.

* * *

Puck was playing cards with Sam, Lucky Charm, and a few other guys when it happened.

A blonde woman a few tables over sat waiting for someone.

She appeared haggard, worn with worry and sadness. Her hair was limp, stringy, and reached just past her shoulders. She had the air of someone who had once been impeccably beautiful, but time, or more likely anxiety had robbed her of her youthful exuberance. He noticed her eyes looked sort of familiar.

An orderly led the boy over. Kurt looked stricken, his blue eyes widening, almost fearful upon seeing who was waiting for him. Eventually the woman nodded her head for him to sit. He did so, his body rigid.

Puck couldn't help but cast his gaze over at the pair causing Sam to nudge him when he nearly missed his turn on several occasions.

The woman was talking. Kurt looked to be listening, though as if in a numb state. Puck noted that the boy was toying with his bracelet nervously.

Eventually Puck just opted to quit playing, his gaze too fixated on the pair sitting a few tables away. It was after he had run his hand through his messy mohawk for the fifth time that the woman stood up, staring down at the pale teen, her purse clutched tightly to her.

Kurt looked... Broken. His eyes glistening with unshed tears as he stared through her. The woman nodded and then briskly walked away, Gavin the orderly catching up to her in order to lead her out.

Puck felt himself walking toward him as if someone else was in control of his body.

"Yo. You okay, Fancy?"

Silence. Puck clears his throat, hovering awkwardly over the lithe frame huddled in the chair.

Puck seats himself down observing him warily, waiting. Kurt seemed to be staring at the same spot that the woman had disappeared from, his eyes burning through Puck at a spot just beyond him.

Again, feeling like there was some other force driving him, his hand reaches out and lays gently over Kurt's. The gesture causes the other boy to jolt, his eyes finally meeting Puck's directly, the tears spilling fast from his blue orbs.

Kurt was shaking his head almost as if to himself. Puck knitted his brows together in concern.

"Dude, what the fuck?"

The kid stands abruptly, looking completely distraught and disoriented. He storms off before Puck can say anything more.

* * *

No one had seen the kid for days. Puck felt an unfamiliar knot growing in his gut. It started when he didn't see Kurt for breakfast. It continued to grow when he didn't show up for group. It felt annoyingly clinching when the same routine happened the next day too.

The Asian chick and the round black girl... God one day Puck would sincerely try to remember their names, just shook their heads when Puck asked.

Jacob, who apparently was in the next dorm over from Kurt, shrugged his shoulders.

"His room mate has group with Sam Evans. He told Sam that he was just lying in bed. Hasn't moved really. Just... lies there."

On the third night Puck was truly bothered to the point of losing sleep. Well, not really losing sleep. Just having trouble... Yeah, just a little trouble. It was the mystery of it. That's all. Just the irritating nagging feeling of not knowing why Fancy was locking himself away like this. And it was with this last thought that he came to a decision.

Once again his body was moving before his mind happened to catch up.

He was seriously a master sneak. No question. The dude could manuever his way through a cardboard box without being detected, he was that good. So it was a no brainer that he would go undiscovered by the orderlies making their usual half hour rounds without a hitch.

He gained the information from of course Jew fro himself earlier today. Jacob had flashed him a curious look when he asked for the info but once Puck cracked his knuckles with a fierce glare, his eyes dragged back to the table and refused to meet with Puck's again for the rest of lunch.

Room 204: just opposite of Jew boy Jacob.

He tentatively grips the door knob and pushed. Unlocked. Just as he expected it would be.

He wasn't expecting however for the kid's bed to be empty. Puck feels a surge of panic. His room mate was there, tangled up in his bed sheets and snoring away... But Kurt was eerily absent.

His mind floods with thoughts of where Kurt could've gone. He speeds along quickly, but as quietly as he can manage. He wasn't fond of the idea of getting time in the quiet room for sneaking around, especially not when he had no idea if Kurt was cool or not. It would bug him to death not being sure before he was subjected to absolute insanity inducing silence.

And as he moved forward, the thought slammed into his brain. He knew exactly where to go.

The grand piano had a glossy tint, the light coming from within the barred window casting it in a weird glow. He almost thought for a moment, coming here in the Arts room was a mistake. But then he caught sight of a bare foot just underneath the bench of the piano.

He gently closes the door behind him and moves forward, anxious at what he may find.

Kurt's back was pressed against the wall, his legs stretched out before him as he stared into space. It took Puck a moment to register that his chest was indeed moving ever so subtlely, a tell tale sign that he was breathing and very much alive.

Puck breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't know if he could take finding the kid's body sprawled out covered in blood, or a cord around his crushed neck or some shit.

It would be too much. Even for him.

The look in Kurt's eyes was haunting, a deep sorrow clouding and darkening the normally light blue orbs.

Puck knew that look all too well. He remembered all of the times he had sported it himself. He bit his lip, knowing that approaching the fragile teen straight out would only end in him becoming frustated with Kurt's inability to respond. He had to try something else.

He spotted his ticket standing in the corner.

He walked over and plucked up the guitar from its stand, throwing the strap over his shoulder and returned to where Kurt was still staring off into space. Puck wondered if he had even noticed his presence at all.

He sat indian style in front of Kurt, the guitar perched tightly in his grip. He hadn't played for a while. Months at least. But Puck wasn't concerned about that. He just wanted to remind the boy that whatever it was, he hated seeing him look so lost, that he missed that stupid gay smile and his blue eyes twinkling at him.

Kurt spares him a glance but then just as quickly looks away, the fog re-emerging within his drifting gaze.

His calloused hand grips the neck of the guitar, fingers splayed in perfect chord position. Puck wasn't sure what to play, not initially.

But then his body did it again. It was like he was some fucking robot with no self awareness or ability to think of his own accord... He strummed easily, like he'd never been on hiatus from one of his favorite past times.

_"You'll remember me, when the west wind moves_

_Among the fields of barley_

_You can tell the sun in his jealous sky,_

_When we walked in fields of gold_

_So she took her love for to gaze a while_

_Among the fields of barley_

_In his arms she fell when her hair came down_

_Among the fields of gold..."_

Silent tears fall from blue. Puck knew then that Kurt could hear him, feel him even. He continued, his gravelly voice emanating around the space, dancing in sync with the guitar in a sweet rhythm.

_"Will you stay with me, will you be my love_

_Among the fields of barley_

_And you can tell the sun in his jealous sky_

_When we walked in fields of gold."_

Kurt's vague expression turned purposeful, pinning Puck in place as he stares straight at him.

_"I've never made promises lightly_

_And there have been some that I've broken_

_But I swear in the days still left_

_We will walk in fields of gold_

_We'll walk in fields of gold."_

Puck stares back, his eyes hard, focusing his feelings into each word, each pluck of a guitar string.

_"I've never made promises lightly_

_And there have been some that I've broken_

_But I swear in the days still left_

_We will walk in fields of gold_

_We'll walk in fields of gold_

_Many years have passed since those summer days_

_Among the fields of barley_

_See the children run as the sun goes down_

_As you lie in fields of gold_

_You'll remember me, when the west wind moves_

_Among the fields of barley_

_You can tell the sun in his jealous sky,_

_When we walked in fields of gold_

_When we walked in fields of gold_

_When we walked in fields of gold..."_

And he breathes out the last notes, his fingers stilling on the guitar. Kurt was eyeing him, his chest rising and falling quickly, tears crawling down his pale cheeks in a rush.

Puck put the guitar to the side, his brown eyes careful.

"My Grandma used to sing me that song before I went to sleep. Before she died I mean. It always made me feel better. She always had a thing for Sting."

The silence returned in a heavy state, lingering amongst the two teens. Puck just wanted to keep the kid from looking so broken. Plug the tears up. Make him smile again.

But something told him to just wait. To not push or pry. He had to be patient. And for the first time that Puck could ever remember in his natural born life, he was willing to exercise restraint for somebody else's well being. He nearly snorted at the thought.

"Did you know your mother?"

Puck found it an odd question but didn't say so.

"Yeah. She uh, she was around here and there. She was always high or comin' off a high though. Runnin' off with the bastard of the week. She um... My Grandma took me in for the most part."

Kurt nodded. "I hate her. My Mother. I fucking _hate _her."

Puck was surprised by the words but even more so by the tone. There was a finality to it, no room for excuses or misunderstanding. He truly hated her.

"My Dad died when I was five. Heart attack. I barely remember him now. But I can still feel him. His presence. How safe he made me feel."

Puck laid himself up against the wall in a similar position to Kurt, listening hard as the boy spoke evenly.

"My Mom met him... Steven... when I was six. They got married not long after that. And before I knew it we were being swept up in his world. Moved houses. Got rid of most of all of our old things. He was an attorney. The type to never spare any expense."

Puck could see something in his eyes shrink, a palpable pain blooming in its wake as Kurt stared ahead while regaling his story.

"It started when I was nine. First it was taking showers together. Then it was pecks on the lips that were bruising. After it was..."

He trailed off. Puck felt his stomach churning. He didn't like where this was going, didn't want to hear it. But he needed Kurt to say the words. If anything for himself, to get it off his heart.

"It hurt _so_ bad. The first few times. Like I was being ripped open. He just told me that it was okay, that it would pass. That it would feel good to me after a while. He even helped me wash the sheets after the first time. Made a game of it."

Puck was fighting to not break something. Felt his resolve loosening and slipping away.

"He made me... He made me look in the mirror while I sucked him off. Told me to swallow every bit of his cum or he'd make me do it again. For a long while it was only once or twice a month. But then-when I hit fourteen-It was like he couldn't keep his hands off me. He made it his mission to fuck me in every room in that fucking house," he spat angrily.

"He would hurt me. Punch me until I couldn't take it. But always on my sides or back where no one would see it. I stayed away. I tried anyway. But I didn't have any friends. Not really. People were too scared to hang with the town faggot." Kurt laughed bitterly. "Not too scared to have him suck them off behind closed doors of course but never good enough to acknowledge his existence in public."

The tears on Kurt's face had long since stopped, dried tear tracks slightly shining against his pale skin as he continued, his voice gaining strength as he spoke.

"Once he caught me with this boy that I'd had an arrangement with. He'd come home early. I was on my knees in my room when he caught us. Shawn was his name. He kicked him out and told me stay on my knees. I'll never forget. He fucked me so hard, wrapped his hands over my throat, squeezed, taunted, made me beg him for more, to say I 'love it' until my throat was hoarse. I remember it cause it was my sixteenth birthday. After he was done, he said that was my birthday present and that I better not ever let another boy's cock touch the back of my throat like that, since I belonged to him."

Puck wanted to ask but couldn't seem to form the words. But soon enough, he didn't have to.

"My Mom was too busy being in denial. Always staying busy with being the perfect housewife. Running off to shop, volunteering, doing anything and everything to avoid paying attention. But when it had gotten to be too much. When I realized that I couldn't take another day of it... I finally told her. And do you know what she said?"

Puck remained silent knowing full well that Kurt would supply the answer.

"She told me that I was lying. That she always knew I was jealous of her relationship with him and that I was just looking for attention. The next night I took a bottle of her prescription pills. I hated the idea of scarring myself with some sort of sharp object so it seemed the logical choice. I only made it because the Maid forgot her purse and found me on the bathroom floor. And now, I'm here. Cause I'm Bat. Shit. Crazy."

Finally Puck exhales after what felt like minutes of holding it in. Sure he himself had been through some God awful shit, but nothing remotely close to being sexually assaulted by your Step Father in secret for years, only to have your Mom completely deny you. Blame you even.

"So, that blonde woman... She was your... Your -"

"Mother. Yeah."

"Fuck," He hisses. "I can't-Fuck." The words alluded him. What the fuck do you say to all that shit? He felt stupid, helpless really. So he just sat in silence trying his best to process the devastation that had been this kid's life.

Finally after the two sit in each other's presence without uttering another word, Puck feels compelled to try something where finding the right words had failed.

He reaches over and puts his arm around Kurt's thin shoulders, his hand squeezing his arm comfortingly.

Kurt didn't pull away. In fact, he slowly but surely melted into the embrace; his pale fingers sliding over Puck's chest and then gripping his shirt tightly as the sobs suddenly erupted.

Puck hadn't been sure how long they'd stayed like that. Minutes surely. Perhaps even hours. But enough time for Kurt to have hiccuped himself into silence again, his head nearly buried in Puck's neck, his fingers loosely brushing across his chest.

"We should go," the smaller teen whispers.

"If you're ready. Then sure, Lady."

"I-I'm sorry for dumping all that on you."

"There ain't nothin' to be sorry about. I'm just glad you're cool."

"Right. So, you ready?"

Puck hesitates. "Give it another few minutes. I think Gavin's on duty tonight. He usually doesn't hit this part of the building for a while. Just in case though, we'll wait it out for a bit."

Kurt seems to stiffen at the mention of the name, then simply nods, a small hint of a smile on his pink lips. Puck was beaming inwardly at the sight.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Once again thanks to you peeps who are blessing me with reviews and all the wondeful comments. Love that you guys are diggin it thus far! They really do make my day. To **Panic'sNearlyWitches**, I took your advice with this chap and spliced a few together and I hope that it flows nicely. I have a good chunk of this story done hence my ability to post a few chaps a day; my hope in posting separately is to get a good build up going and incite that angsty angst so please don't let that deter you too much from continuing. Also I forgot to put a disclaimer for the song from last chappy, so yep, I don't own **Sting** or his music. The song is called **'Fields of Gold,'** but the version Puck was playing was actually **Eva Cassidy's** version. Both are beautiful but that one makes me tingle. Also the song **'Smile'** which I honestly don't know who owns or has rights to, but not I said the cat.

* * *

Dr. Schuester was paid to be perceptive. He was trusted to delve through a kid's bull shit, see their faults, see the root of the issue.

But with one Noah Puckerman, he had always been left dissatisfied with his inability to crack the code. He couldn't quite reach him; not through the layers of brick surrounding his heart.

He spent countless hours probing, then being patient, validating, doing anything to get something from him. All he received in return was a few choice swear words, threats, manipulated observations, and overall defiance.

Until now.

Lately the ice had been melting.

Lately the kid had been taking his meds on schedule, engaging in the group sessions, even giving advice to some of his peers during the group disclosures... He had been less distant and so much less hostile.

Lately he almost looked... Dare he think it: Happy.

And Dr. Schuester was honestly baffled. What the hell had happened?

Was it the threat of serious prison time that eventually kicked the kid square in his ass and initiated this sense of motivated change?

Maybe.

Whatever it was. He was going to go with it.

"You look well Mr. Puckerman."

Puck guided his dark eyes away from the book case and looked over at the Doc.

"Damn dude. Lose the 'Mr.' thing it sounds weird. I told you, Puck works for me. That's how I define myself. Just Puck. Cool?"

Dr. Schuester is amused by this. Polite, or as polite as Puckerman has ever managed anyway. He'd take it.

"Sure. Puck it is. So I figured today we can just talk about whatever you want to."

"Not much to say."

"I don't know if I'd say that."

Puck narrows his eyes, not in an unfriendly way, just curious. "What do you mean?"

"Just that you seem different lately."

"Why?"

"You tell me."

Puck wasn't stupid. He had an idea of where this shit was probably going.

"Look. I just don't like the idea of bein' in lock down with a shit ton of murderers and rapists and shit. I'd rather take my chances with the crazies. If I gotta take these happy pills, and sing khumbaya or whatever for that to happen... Then it's whatever."

"I can't say I disagree with the change I've been seeing."

Puck smirks. "I guess it makes it a little easier on ya, huh Doc?"

"A bit. But I'm glad to see you looking happy."

Puck is a bit taken aback by that statement. Happy... He'd never considered it. Sure he'd been feeling more... Light, he supposed. Happy though? That was a relatively crazy notion to him.

"Hey Doc?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever been in love before?"

Now it was Dr. Schuester's turn to be taken aback. But of course, years of learning to be neutral to the most heart wrenching information allows him to hide his emotion.

"Yes. I have."

"I haven't. I've fucked a lot of people. Even told some that I loved em' but..." He trailed off into a pinched silence.

"It's a unique feeling. Unique among every other emotion in my opinion. I think because it sort of encompasses so many emotions at once. You feel like you might even burst under the weight of it all."

"Yeah... It sort of hurts a lot, at the same time, it feels like, perfect or something."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"In love?"

"No. I just-I was just thinkin' that's all."

"Hm. Okay."

Puck was biting his lip, filling up with tension as Dr. Schuester watched him with that fucking look: the one that said he knew more then Puck was actually saying.

"My idea of love was what my Granny showed me. She protected me, and tried her best to be good to me. When she died... I dunno, I just-I got lost. My Mom abandoned me and I got thrown in the system. I forget how many houses and group homes I've been in. I honestly lost count. But I just knew I never wanted to be like her... Like my Mom."

"What do you mean Puck?"

"I didn't want to make someone love me and then just leave."

"So it's easier to push them away?"

"Yeah. It is."

Dr. Schuester leans back in his chair; his fingers laced together in front of his face.

"It's scary. Love can be a tremendously scary thing. But in truth, we can't function as human beings without it. It's as essential as eating, sleeping, hell even breathing. It hurts when we lose it, or when we give it away to someone who doesn't return it. But life without love, just isn't really living. So we learn to take the risk despite how it may have burned us in the past."

"Ya know what's kind of nuts?"

"Do tell."

"I've spent my whole life doin' stupid shit. Takin' risks or whatever. But that one, that love shit. That risk scares the fuck outta me the most."

Dr. Schuester eyes the teen thoughtfully, leaning forward with a jovial expression.

"Puck, _most _people are scared shitless of that. You're definitely not alone there."

Puck sighs contentedly. He would've laughed if he could muster it. It wasn't often if ever that he heard the Doc utter a curse word.

What in the fuck made him ask that question? Those pills must really be messing with his head, making weird shit spring out of his mouth... Well, weirder shit then his version of normal anyway.

But while Puck was contemplating his confusion, Dr. Schuester was secretly high fiving himself. In their brief but very memorable history together, Noah Puckerman had never opened up like he had today.

Unless you counted all the times he had threatened to burn this place down.

* * *

"Yo, Lady!"

Kurt glances up - just for a second - quirks his lips, and looks back at the beadwork in his hands.

"Noah," he replies simply.

Puck joins him at the table. This time he watches the boy sitting across from him, no real inclination to disturb him.

"Can I help you with something?"

Puck shakes his head. "Nah. I was just bored. Wondered where you were."

Puck isn't sure but he thinks he glimpses Kurt's pink lips stretch upward ever so slightly.

"Hm. I guess this is sort of becoming our impromptu meeting place."

Kurt had referenced it. Puck was a bit surprised that he would even allude to or in any way mention their strange encounter in this very room the other night. Puck can't help but glance over at the piano sitting quietly and untouched in the corner, acting as a sort of immobile secret keeper. Puck isn't sure what to say in response to this, so instead he grabs a piece of string and begins digging in the plastic container housing various multi colored beads.

He starts threading away. Not sure what colors he's piecing together. He didn't really care. Just needed the distraction while sitting across from the other kid. They sit in a comfortable silence. No words necessary. Puck had to admit, it was sort of nice.

"She told me that I could come home."

"What?"

"My Mother. When she came the other day. She said I could come home."

"Will _he_ be there?"

Kurt swallowed. Puck figured out what that meant without words. It didn't stop Kurt from saying it anyway.

"Yes. He'll still be there," he whispers shakily.

"Then it's simple. You won't be goin' back."

Kurt looks up at him, his eyes shining. "What?" He breathes out.

"You won't be goin' back. I mean - you can't seriously be entertainin' the idea of bein' back there with the guy. No - Just - No way."

"I'm not. I won't. But... Just for a moment. A second even, I felt like... My Mother actually missed me. That I could be going home to my _Mom_. The one who actually cared for me, loved me unconditionally... Made stupid necklaces with me when I was just figuring out that I wasn't like every other little boy. Stupid, right?"

Puck sighs heavily. "No. It's not stupid. It makes perfect sense. Well, if that exists. Perfect sense I mean."

Kurt nods sadly; his smile fading into a wry representation of the shy yet honest one it had been a few minutes before.

"Things have never made much sense to me in my life. Why would they suddenly start to now?"

"Amen, Lady."

"I thought you were Jewish?"

Puck doesn't get pissed for some reason like he normally would have. He just shrugs his broad shoulders in amusement.

"Like Jew fro Israel himself? Whatever. I don't claim it."

"That was a rather brave, enormously robust understatement."

It was obvious Kurt was looking for Puck to elaborate. Puck rolls his eyes and continues, if anything to help the kid keep his thoughts from lingering on his fuck stain of a Mother.

"I never had a Dad. He wasn't around. But my Mom named me after the douche for whatever retarded reason. I'm a Noah Puckerman Junior. And I fuckin' can't stand it. Never really could."

"If there is such a thing as perfect sense, that indeed makes perfect sense."

Puck smiles at Kurt's words. "Ya know Lady? I sort of like you."

Kurt's cheeks tint red. Puck had to hold back the grin he felt dying to spread over his face at the sight.

"When you're not being gay that is," He adds hastily.

"Hm. That's weird. Didn't know that I could pick or choose when I can be gay. Interesting notion. Remind me to try that some time."

"Duly noted Fancy."

Puck decides to add another note to himself: he's never said those words aloud to another dude before. He can't even recall saying those words to any chicks for that matter. Not sincerely anyway.

Those fucking pills are seriously screwing with his manhood.

* * *

Thank God or whoever was handling heavens gates that Jacob grabbed a fucking clue and decided to sit out. He might as well have asked Lady to join him instead. Seriously. The little Jewtard sucked _that_ bad.

So right... Now he was looking at a narrow victory. That Sam kid was freaking determined today and him having that other guy Nick on his team was definitely putting them at an advantage. Nick was about Puck's height, thinner build but definitely an actual athlete with some speed.

Puck dribbles slowly while observing his situation. Lucky Charm, who was unfortunately his team mate was attempting to get open.

The little shit was short, true enough, and he had a weird jump shot. But most of the time it did go in, and he was pretty feisty when it counted. Puck is sure that the rumor about him trying to kill his sponsoring family is probably true after witnessing moments when he gets all tenacious and sort of beserk on the basketball court... Like an angry chihuahua snapping his little jaws and nipping people.

They have an audience again. A few more people lining the bleachers including Jacob, Mercedes and Tina (Kurt had made sure that Puck memorized their names before agreeing to speak with him again), a few other girls from a different ward, and of course Lady face himself.

He had long since lost his shirt. His hospital pants hanging low on his hips as the draw string keeps the things from slipping down completely and showing off his dick.

Not that he would mind. He's pretty proud of his member.

"Dude, are you gonna do something or just fuckin' stand around?"

Nick. Stupid Bieber lookin' Bastard. Well... the brunette version... And why does Puck know that?

Puck decides then that he needs to rush them. So he smirks, goes left, does an excellent cross over leaving Nick stumbling and moves to take a jumper. Just as he pulls up, he fakes and passes out to the Irishman at the last second.

Lucky Charm nearly drops the ball out of surprise but he's able to hang on and put up a quick, albeit uncoordinated lay up for the win.

"Sweet! Alright Matthew McConaughey and Bieber clone. That'll be game!"

Puck actually feels excited about it. It was a hell of a run. He can't even stop himself from seeking out Lucky Charm and slapping him a high five. The kid is wearing a shocked expression, but just as quickly he lets it pass and gives a genuine grin at Puck's unexpected antics.

"Now get the fuck outta my gym!" Puck taunts good naturedly, clapping Sam on the back with fervor.

"Whatever Dude. One time. You get all overexcited over one win."

"I'll take what I can get Beach boy."

Sam shakes his head while chuckling. He and Nick stalk off, Bieber twin murmuring under his breath as they exit the gym.

Puck registers several other 'thud' sounds signalling that others have also took it upon themselves to leave now that the game was done. Honestly, Puck didn't even look over to see. He was too absorbed in the post game euphoria as he lined up to take some free throws.

He hits his first. Sighs in content. Then lines up for another which he sinks just as easily.

"Did you play when you were younger?"

Puck feels the smile behind his lips but doesn't show it. He stares forward, his eyes focused on the rim as he readies himself for his third go.

"Yeah. I stayed out a lot. I used to play at Parks and stuff. Kept me busy." He shoots and sinks the third shot with a soft 'swish' sound.

Kurt watches him from a few feet away, his eyes also trained ahead on the basket.

"Did you ever play in school?"

"Nah. Never had the grades for a school team."

"That's too bad. You're actually pretty good. Not that I'm an expert but you seem to make a lot of baskets."

"You're definitely not an expert. And are you being faggy right now?"

"I think you would_ know _if I was being 'faggy' as you so intelligently put it."

Kurt looks at him purposefully when saying this, a mischievous glint in his blue orbs.

Puck narrows his eyes, his tongue darting over his lips. Either he really was a fucking loon, or Fancy pants had just challenged him. In a suspiciously flirtatious way might he add.

"You really can't turn it off can you, Lady?"

Kurt huffs defensively. He then steps in front of Puck and squares his shoulders.

"Play me."

"What?"

"You heard me. I said play against me Puckerman. Unless you're scared."

The little diva had used his last name. Something he never does. This was getting interesting.

"Fine. Check up." Puck passes the ball to Kurt who catches it in an awkward grip and stares back at Puck with a cutely vague expression.

Holy fuck! Did he just think the look was 'cute'?

Puck exhales slowly and then states, "Check up. It means I toss it in to you, then you pass it back. Then you have to defend me from gettin' to the hoop."

"Oh. Right. Check up. Got it." Kurt gives a girly bounce pass which Puck retrieves from by his feet and begins to dribble.

Kurt has his hands out, his tongue poked out in concentration, his long legs barely bent as he wildly swipes at the ball.

"Wait, wait, wait. Fancy. What the shit are you doin'?"

"Trying to take the ball. What's it look like?"

"Like you're tryin' to hold in your shit while blindly clawing for toilet paper. Here," Puck puts the ball down and steps behind Kurt.

Kurt visibly shivers, his body becoming rigid.

_Fuck_. _Idiot_.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have just stepped behind you like that."

There was a pause. Then Kurt nodded stiffly.

"N-no. It's okay. Really."

"Are you sure?"

Kurt nods again, a little more self assured. "Yes."

"Okay. Um. I have to - is it okay - if I put my hands on your sides? Only for a second. Promise."

Lady breathes in a shaky breath, then exhales. "Okay."

"Alright. First: when you play defense, you have to keep your knees bent and your legs spaced apart."

He waits while Kurt gets into position, then continues. "Second: you have to slide your feet in order to keep up with your opponent. If you cross them, you're likely to trip up and get left in the dust. Let's start by goin' left."

Puck gently places his hands on Kurt's sides from behind and slides along with him to the left.

"Good. Ya got it Fancy. Now let's go right." They take similar sliding steps to the right. When Puck is satisfied with the kid's progress, he steps back in front of Kurt and picks up the ball.

"Now, keep your eyes not on the ball, but my stomach."

"Your stomach? Um, why would I do that?"

"It helps keep you centered. Sometimes when you focus solely on the ball you may take a miscalculated swipe and get burnt. If you look at the stomach, you can get a better idea of which way I might take off and stick with me."

"Er, okay. Stomach. Got it."

"Cool. Now let's try it in real speed."

Kurt nods a bit nervously but his eyes are shining with determination. Puck dribbles to the left, walking in order to give Kurt a chance to practice his newly learned defensive position. The boy slides in sync with Puck. Puck grins and takes him the other way, all the while Kurt sliding along accordingly.

"Good. Now I'm gonna try to blow by you. Think you can stay with me?"

"Oh yeah," Kurt states with an air of cockiness that causes Puck to waggle his eyebrows.

Puck puts the ball between his legs, back through again and makes to cross him over, but the dude floats along with him, his long legs sliding with an ease that almost disturbs the burly teen. Kurt's eyes are glued on his stomach. Puck wonders if he's honestly registering the ball or simply enjoying the up close ogling of his abs.

"I see someone's gettin' a little cocky."

"Maybe."

"Good. I like takin' down the cocky shits the most."

"Your words not mine."

_Damn it._

Puck can feel a blush creeping up his neck. He by no means meant anything remotely gay by that statement. Leave it to the faggy kid to sprinkle some gay in there somewhere.

Puck playfully makes movements as if he's going to take off causing Kurt to almost lose his footing. Eventually this leads to Kurt getting tired of Puck laughing at him, and he reverts back to his wild swiping, his pale fingers laying to rest on Puck's sweaty shoulder as the broad teen chuckles.

And then the unthinkable happens: Kurt knocks the ball away. It happens so fast, it takes Puck a minute to register that the smaller boy is now making his way toward the basket dribbling in an odd, effeminate manner.

Puck forgets himself and runs after him. He abandons the pretense of trying to block the kid and instead grabs him from behind causing the smaller teen to squeal, and spins him around. The ball goes flying from Kurt's grip but he seems to be laughing. Puck can't help but chuckle in a sense of relief that Kurt isn't pushing him away or freaking out.

The momentum eventually sends them both crashing to the floor; Puck making sure to take the brunt of the fall which ensures that he doesn't squash the other boy.

And they're laughing. Hard. Puck hasn't laughed like this since... Hell he couldn't remember. Kurt was hovering over him, staring down with pink cheeks and a wide smile as he lay in a graceful position near Puck's side. Puck's back was pressed on the hard wood floor as he kept his gaze locked on blue eyes shining with unrecognizable mirth.

Finally after the laughter dies out, Kurt comments, "I think I won."

"What? No way. You didn't even score."

"Oh I was well on my way to scoring when some Neanderthal decided to pick me up and turn me into a freakin' carousel."

"Language Lady," Puck reprimands in mock fashion. "And I s'pose ya gotta point. You were closer to scorin' so I guess it's fair to give you the win. This time anyway."

It was left unsaid. Puck knew it. But they had crossed some invisible barrier between themselves. Puck knew because he -The Puckasaurus himself- had initiated physical contact with the dude, who in turn allowed him to without having a melt down. Even though the moment had passed in seconds, it signified something really big.

This fragile kid who had been abused for so many years and obviously had some issues with such close contact had good humor about the whole thing... Even seemed to enjoy himself.

Puck leant up on his elbows, staring intently at blue, unwavering, and focused. Maybe it was because the blue color simply captivated him. Maybe he was trying to avoid looking down at the kid's soft looking lips. There were words dangling on his own lips, wanting to roll off his tongue and enter those delicate ears.

"What the hell is this Puckerman?"

Puck looks up at the small figure with dirty blonde hair trailing over her shoulder marching toward them, hands on hips, and glare in place. It was then that Puck registered that they had indeed been alone in the gym. Until now.

Puck clears his throat and sits up, pulling himself to his feet as if he had been burnt.

"Nothin'. Just playin' a little ball."

"Hm. Laying on the floor with no ball in sight. Remind me to check over the rules because I thought you actually needed to be _on your feet and moving with a ball _to play."

Kurt was now also on his feet, nibbling his pink lip and stepping back slightly, as if hoping to melt into the background.

"Quinn. What is it you want exactly?"

She pulls a face at his tone, and steps closer in order to whisper, "You _know_ what I want from you." She continues when Puck doesn't respond. "I've been looking for you everywhere. I'm getting tired of this little ignoring game you're playing. When are you going to stop hiding out and come back to me?"

Puck subconsciously casts a look at the boy standing a few feet back. The blue eyes look... sad, disappointed. He's not sure cause he only glances for a second. His dark eyes land on jade green again which are burning with scorn.

"I already explained this to you. We're done."

Did Fancy just perk up? Quinn looks between the two boys. A sweeping realization crashing over her.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Really Puckerman? You're some sort of Nancy boy, ass rimmer now? _That's_ why you don't want to fuck me anymore?" The little bitch made sure to yell that last comment.

"We've never even fucked. And I ain't a fag! _You_ of all people should know that."

"Well you could've fooled me! I knew there was something keeping you occupied. I thought it was some other stupid girl. But I never would've guess you'd gone gay!"

"Shut the fuck up Quinn! I ain't no faggot!"

"YO! Am I interrupting?"

Sam Evans had re-entered the gym, his eyes resting apprehensively on the scene in front of him.

Kurt seemed to have shaken himself awake again, his arms knotted across his chest. His blue eyes looking steely.

"The fuck Blondie?" Puck was secretly delighted at the dude's return. Anything to keep the little banshee chick from screeching at him. Anything to keep him from saying anything else that would cause Kurt to close in on himself.

"Hey don't take it out on me Bro. I just came to get my hoodie. Left it from earlier."

Quinn is breathing heavily, but remains quiet. The blonde's sudden presence bringing some illogical sweep of sanity into the room. Like being doused with cold water. Sam grabs his sweater. Kurt shakes his head as if coming back to his senses, then shoots one last look at Puck.

Hurt.

Puck recognized that emotion anywhere.

"Hey Sam. Can I walk with you?"

"Um, sure. I'll walk you out."

"Thank you."

They disappear out the door while Puck's heart feels like its being squished in a vice grip.

"Just tell me Puck." Quinn's voice isn't filled with hostility with this admission. It sounds... Hurt. Damn. Hurt in _his _eyes. Hurt in _her _voice. Fuck are the odds?

Wait... He was Noah Puckerman. Hurting others was a talent of his. How could he have forgotten that?

"Do you want him? Do you actually want that _boy_, over me?"

Puck hesitates. Just the slightest pause. But then he quickly recovers.

"I don't want anything or anybody. I think all of you are complete shit. Now stop fuckin' stalkin' me and go blow some other guy!"

And just like that, he feels empty again.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** You guys are too awesome! Thank you sincerely for your the reviews and kind words. I was hoping the build up has been at a good pace, not too quick and illogical, but not sooo long that it just gets down right frustrating. I will say for those of you who've been patient with me, you'll be happy to know that shit goes down this chapter! Enjoy! And please keep reviewing.

* * *

Sam. That fucking bleach blonde butt fucking surfer dick.

The rational part of Puck's brain (the little of it that's left) tries to reason that this has nothing to do with Sam. Not really. But Puck has never been one to wrestle with reason when his emotions start to take over.

They haven't spoken for days. Kurt has been casually avoiding him, averting his gaze, and generally pretending that he didn't exist.

But you know who he hasn't seemed to have forgotten? That fucking McConaughey reject.

They've been inseperable lately. And it's driving Puck INSANE.

Like the only time in this place that he truly feels like he's losing grip on reality. Ironic really. But a hard truth none the less.

It's getting into summer. The winds are less harsh, the cold abating and giving way to more sunny days which allows for more leisure time for the patients outdoors. Puck is fine with that. It gives him time to lounge away from prying eyes and crazy, stalkerish blonde chicks. Time to contemplate how shitty his life actually is; the warm sun the only thing keeping him remotely company.

He's pretty much reverted back to his old self again. Well, kind of. Absent is the overt hostility toward every living, breathing creature around. Or the desire to rebel and do something stupid just for entertainment value. He's still taking his meds and attending his therapy sessions. He still even goes to fucking group, though he remains as sullen and quiescent as ever.

But other then all of that, he's still the same asshole who hates himself just as much as ever.

Maybe the difference is that instead of disguising his pain behind his fists and volatile demeanor, he actually allows it to wash over him; to truly think about it and feel it.

And fuck does it hurt.

But why? Why is he so fucking pathetic all of the sudden?

He looks up and sees the pale teen laughing with abandon. Him and that fucking Beach boy are playing a game of chess on a bench not far away.

He doesn't even realize he's doing it until he's already looming over the pair.

"Sup Fags?"

"Puck," Kurt greets coolly. Puck narrows his dark eyes, the hurt emanating just underneath the surface at the kid's use of his surname as opposed to his first.

"What do you want Puckerman?" Sam asks with an air of exasperation.

Puck doesn't know what he wants. That's what's crazy about it. What the fuck does he hope to gain? A quick word with Fancy? A playful smile? Another encounter where they find themselves rolling on the floor with each other? Laughing. Watching. Hoping...

"I take it that Lady here has turned you out then Blondie?"

"I take it that whatever our relationship with each other is, it's none of your business dude."

"What?" He directs at Kurt, staring hard, challenging him to deny or confirm. Kurt looks a little nervous by the way he's gnawing his lip, but he expertly avoids Puck's glare.

"Puck. Sam and I like to hang out. You're not the friendship police. So get a hold of yourself and run along. I'm sure you have a certain blonde who's waiting to be enraptured by your eloquent words and oh, so, sophisticated charm."

Damn. Just... Damn. Kid could wound when he wanted. But the word 'friendship' had undoubtedly resulted in a jolt of relief despite the rest of the stinging jibe. Puck was speechless as his dark eyes roved over the chess board, mostly for something to do.

Puck sighs deeply, then moves Kurt's queen.

"Check mate," He states clearly, then he walks away, both boys staring after him.

He walks, unsure of where he's going exactly, just knowing he needs to distance himself from the two fuck sticks making googly eyes at each other.

Finally he spies a head of unmistakable Jewish hair sitting under a tree. Jacob Jewtastic Israel looks to be writing in something. Probably something gay like a journal Puck deduces. His desire to just, he doesn't know exactly, maybe not be alone with his thoughts overwhelms him. To the point where the Fro himself seems appealing.

He seats himself beside the dude, his arms resting over his knees. Jacob visibly shirks away from him, his hands clutching his book tightly.

"W-What do you want Puckerman?"

"Nothing Your Fro-ness. What're you writin' the virgin chronicles or some shit?"

The blush is beginning to spread over the dude's neck and cheeks.

"Nothing."

"Oh, I doubt that. You looked too absorbed. Gimme that!"

Puck easily snatches the book away and notices the page that Jacob has been writing on. The kid looks like he's going to explode with how red his face has become.

"No fuckin' way! Are you shittin' me? The Goth?"

The page clearly houses a large heart with the names 'Jacob and Tina' scrawled neatly in the center, decorative and detailed.

"Leave me alone Puck!"

Puck laughs while Jacob stews in his embarrassment.

"Dude. She's like a fuckin' vampire. And she can't talk worth a shit. You can't even understand her half the time -"

"Don't talk about her like that!"

"Hm. I guess somebody has an Asian fetish huh?"

"No. It's not like that."

"Please. Then enlighten me good sir."

"Whatever Puckerman."

"Seriously. What is it about her? Her fangs or what?"

"She's just nice okay?"

"Nice? So, what you don't wanna bang her slit?"

"Shut up!"

Puck is actually impressed. Jacob has never quite been this fierce with him before. It's kind of inspiring in a sadly, pathetic sort of way.

"So it's not just about fuckin' her?" Puck asks.

"No. It's not," Jacob responds quietly.

Puck pauses in order to organize this thoughts.

"And you haven't told her because...?"

"No. I-No. I can't."

"Dude. Seriously. I know you're fuckin' pathetic most of the time but you're not in here alone. She's obviously just as fucked up and pathetic. You have nothin' to lose."

"It's just not that easy for me. I'm not like you. I can't just walk up to a girl and practically whip my penis out like some sort of porn star, okay? I... I care about her. As a person you know? Not just some sexual object."

Puck finds himself listening intently. The kid isn't stuttering. He doesn't seem unsure. That was a first in terms of the times he and Puck have interacted.

"Tina is nice. She's caring and smart. Her smile is so radiant. And her laugh is nothing short of glorious. When she says 'hi' to me, even acknowledges my presence in anyway, it's like I'm walking on clouds for the whole rest of the day. If I'm in the same room as her, nothing else seems to matter. And I feel good, actually good even if she doesn't speak directly to me. It's like I feel normal and happy. Just for a moment. Which hasn't happened often in my life."

Puck ruffles his hand through his mohawk. He thinks he knows that feeling. That 'good' feeling Jacob has just described.

"Tell her."

"Tell her what?"

"Everything you just said. Hell I'm a dude and_ I _almost swooned at that shit. Just be honest with her. Whether she digs you or not, least you'll know. Then you can stop doodling hearts and shit while you masterbate with your tears."

Jacob swallows nervously. "I-I don't know."

"Well I do Jewbilee. And I think if I catch you wallowing under a tree like a fuckin' Keebler elf drawin' gay shit like this, I'm gonna kick your ass. So get over yourself and Talk. To. Her."

Jacob slowly nods, his mouth twisting in a weird way that Puck thinks maybe is supposed to be a smile. The nerd stands up and begins to trek away. He stops suddenly after a few paces and turns back toward Puck.

"You too."

"What?"

"You should too. You know? - Be honest with yourself. Maybe then you won't be so angry all the time."

The look the kid was giving him was sort of creeping him out. Like he knew a secret that Puck didn't or something. But before Puck could respond Jacob had already disappeared back toward the site.

Honesty huh?

Maybe he should've punched Jew Fro out after all. The longer he let him talk the more ridiculous his musings became.

* * *

The group was just settling in, Puck amongst them with a less then enthusiastic attitude.

His absence was easily noticeable. At least to Puck.

"Hey Black chick?"

"Mercedes," she corrected defiantly.

"Right. Um. Mercedes. Have you seen the fa- I mean, Kurt, anywhere?"

She looked slightly taken aback by the name correction. Then her gaze returned to a defensive glare.

"No. He should be here soon though. They're gonna lock the door if he's another few minutes late."

Unnecessary information, Puck thinks. He knows the whole policy regarding late comers to group therapy. He tries to refrain from biting out a retort, then eventually settles for a mumbled, "Thanks," before standing to leave.

"Puckerman. Group's just getting ready to start," Dr. Schuester warns.

"Yeah. I know. I just have to go the bathroom real quick."

"Hurry it up. I'll give you a few extra minutes. No more, no less."

Puck nods and speeds out the door. As he moves his steady pace turns into a jog. He checks the Arts room first. It hadn't failed him yet - until today at least. A few patients were scattered around, an orderly and a counselor watching over them, but no sign of Kurt.

He breaks out into a full on run, skidding down the hall toward Kurt's dorm. He knocks insistently. No answer. No Kurt.

He's starting to panic. Maybe he's hurt himself. Maybe the little flamer's in the bathroom blowing Sam. Puck can't tell which thought pierces him more. They both cause him to run faster, not completely sure where his legs were taking him.

Just as he felt his breathing become erratic and he had to double over to avoid the pain of stitches forming in his sides, he heard something that caught his attention... Something that sounded like... whimpering? Moaning?

Puck peeked around the corridor down a narrow hallway leading to a dead end.

"No. Please, s-stop."

Puck registers an orderly holding someone against the wall.

Fucking Gavin, pressed up against... Puck inhales sharply.

Kurt.

Gavin has Kurt's wrists pinned above his head in a powerful grip, his other hand lightly running over the fabric lining Kurt's cock, thick fingers trailing over the loose fitting pants.

"I've seen the way you walk around here like you own the place. You don't have to pretend. I know you want it baby."

"P-p-please. No."

"Hey! The fuck Gavin?"

Both figures look over. Kurt's startled, obviously scared, but his eyes also pool with what resembles relief, fresh tears glazing his cheeks.

"Get the fuck off him!" Puck pushes the bastard away, standing protectively in front of Kurt. He wants to punch him until his face leaks. Wants to rage, and bring absolute fucking earth wrenching pain to the son of a bitch.

"Puckerman. Move on! This is none of your business -"

"It became my business the second you put your hands on him you sick fuck!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Puck moves to lunge forward but Kurt's surprisingly firm grip, despite his shaking form, acts as a stimulant quelling the impulse.

"Don't. Please Noah. Let's just go."

Pucks fists are balled at his sides, his lip nearly bleeding he's biting it so hard.

"Please." Puck knew what was behind the plea. Not just an attempt to avoid confrontation, but a plea for Puck to not do anything that would jeapordize his residency; to stay out of lock up.

"Besides. Do you honestly think anybody would believe you two little shits over me? Huh? Some delusional fucking fairy and an ex coke head with anger issues and a record a mile long? You're better off keeping your mouths shut. Don't forget that I'm one of the head orderlies. I practically run this place. I can make shit easy, or really, really difficult for you. Your choice."

Puck thinks he glimpses movement in the adjoining hallway. A quick flash of something. It was too hard to tell with the corridor being submerged in darkness like it was. Puck then steers Kurt down the hallway, all while keeping his eyes locked on the smirking face of the orderly.

Gavin had some years on him, probably in his early thirties, and definitely was more built if you didn't count his beer gut. His brown hair was always gelled back making it appear black, that stupid goatee running along his upper lip and chin like a well manicured patch of grass.

That fucking snarky look, the sneer that rivaled his own was plastered on Gavin's face with such confident assurance, Puck wanted to rip it right off. But he knew, sadly but surely, that some element of what the prick was saying was true.

As the pair passed him, Puck hisses, "If you touch him like that again. I _will _kill you."

Gavin responds with a cruel laugh but allows the two to roam ahead of him, waiting for them to be out of his sight before exiting the now vacant area.

Kurt is holding tightly to Puck's arm as they walk along.

"Are you okay?"

The pale boy shakes his head, a soft whimper escaping his pink lips.

"We could, we could say something. We could tell Schue-"

"No! Just - leave it alone. I don't want anyone to know."

Puck nods. He won't push the kid. Not after everything he's been through.

"Alright. Group's probably started. We might still be able to make it though. Schuester gave me a few extra minutes -"

Kurt shakes his head again, the movement jerky, frantic. The whimpers are increasing.

"Okay. That's okay. We'll go somewhere else."

"B-but, you can't miss anymore. You have to go-"

"Nah. It'll be alright. I'll give Schue some crap about feelin' sick or somethin.' I'll be fine. Where do you want to go?"

"I just want to walk. Please."

And they walk: Kurt clutching desparately to Puck, and Puck placing his hand firmly over where Kurt wound his arm through his.

They've managed to walk around the more desolate areas of the facility. Neither teen speaking or attempting to do so. Puck was content with simply walking. Puck would walk for miles if the kid asked him to.

Puck stops short when they come across the Men's showers. Kurt speaks with his eyes.

_I need this._

Puck leads him into the room, the echo of their foot steps sounding thunderous in the large space covered in bright tile.

There are more then six shower heads lined against the wall. They walk over to the middle spout, Puck not even realizing that he had been leading the boy by his hand until they were still.

Puck steps forward and turns on the water. It sprays across his calloused hand as he tests the temperature, waiting for it to warm. After mere seconds Puck states, "it feels warm enough. I'll just- Er- head outside. I'll wait for you there."

The surly teen steps past Kurt but is halted by the feel of a hand gripping his arm, holding him in place.

Puck is swimming in blue. Lost in a gaze that all but swallows him whole.

_Stay._

There are no words spoken aloud but Puck hears them all the same. He watches the smaller boy intently, waiting for him to show a sign, any sign of fear or apprehension, even revulsion. But he finds none. Not in his posture, not in his eyes.

Brown orbs linger on blue, asking permission which he receives. The response displayed in Kurt's reticent stance, a quiet but very present fortitude.

Puck has never felt this before. Never felt so intimate with another person as he slowly pulls Kurt's shirt over his head, and carefully folds it up, his eyes steadfast and resolute.

Kurt's breathing has quickened its pace. Puck briefly notes the alabastor skin and lean, delicate looking torso, but as much as he wants to feast with his eyes, he keeps them set. It's important to keep them focused on blue. Puck knows, feels that somehow looking elsewhere would desicrate the charm keeping them both spell bound.

He swallows reflexively, his adam's apple bobbing as he bends down to lightly pull at Kurt's draw string. The pants fall easily and Kurt is standing before him naked, his intense gaze all-consuming.

Puck doesn't hesitate to pick the garment from the floor and fold it carefully as well. He then tries with all of his being to communicate that he's not going anywhere; just giving Kurt some much needed space.

The willowy boy nods almost imperceptibly, and allows himself to be engulfed by the spray of water. Puck turns and steps to the side, just far enough to ensure that the clothes he's guarding stay dry. His back is facing the other teen but he imagines that he can see him. Observe him in all of his glory. He closes his eyes and pictures every brush of pale fingertips caressing the milky skin, water sliding playfully over pink nipples... Puck taking a nipple in his mouth...

His eyes shoot open. Whoa! The fuck?

Puck has to supress a groan.

No. He can't. He's just feeling protective. That's all. Nothing wrong with being protective. He just felt bad for the kid. Felt like he needed to take responsibility for him. Look out for him.

Yeah. That's all. That's all the fat lady wrote... or some shit like that.

Just as Puck is finally steering clear from giving into near cardiac arrest, he hears it: Sobs that are broken and heavy, accompanied by successive 'thudding' noises.

He turns to see Kurt sagging against the wall, his head tucked in the crook of one arm, while the other was pre-occupied with pounding the tiles.

Puck places the pile of clothing on the floor and bounds over to the other teen. He doesn't care that the boy is completely stark naked, or as gay as the day was long. He's not even the slightest bit bothered getting soaked by the on-pouring jet of water as the fragile figure breaks down completely in his arms.

And Puck just holds tightly, shushing him, and vowing that no one would hurt him again. Ever. As long as Puck had a say.

Eventually they sink to the floor, Puck's embrace secure and steady as Kurt cries evenly, clutching Puck's back, wrinkling the now sopping shirt, his head buried in Puck's shoulder.

"Please Kurt. Don't cry. I hate to see you cry. I just - It hurts."

Puck was never good with words. Not really. That's honestly why he stuck to writing his thoughts down. He couldn't be articulate or meaningful if he had to vocalize his inner thoughts aloud. He felt like a moron whenever he tried.

His mind, always the forward thinker that it was he thought sarcastically, had apparently jumped ship and bailed out on him. It really must have. Because Puckerman was peculiarly leaning forward and then without explanation, laying a chaste kiss atop Kurt's head... Then another on his forehead... And another against his jaw line.

Several more kisses lined his cheek and Puck feels desparate. He just wants to do something to make it better for him...

His blue eyes are staring now; red with pain, glossy with tears. Puck pauses, unsure of himself, concerned that he indefinitely crossed the line. Maybe managed to intensify the kid's grief.

It was a moment. Just a second or two... But the brief interval of time was all he needed for the epiphany to assault his senses.

Puck wanted more. Not just to help Kurt. He wanted Kurt, simply because he_ wanted _Kurt. Somewhere in his mind's eye, a Jewish boy with a horrendous afro and glasses was smiling triumphantly.

Knowing himself to be quite the sex shark extraordinaire, Puck acknowledged the urge to pull the other boy forward and crush their lips together.

But this is different. It's not a conquest. Nor is it a simple need to quench his lustful desires. Hell, he doesn't even know if he wants _that_... Sex, with a dude? He hasn't even kissed a guy before... Had never even thought about it before...

He's not a fag. He hates fags.

But he can't deny that he wants to feel this boy, to touch him.

As his mind finishes mulling over that last thought, he refocuses on a tentative hand reaching to cup his cheek, followed by another. Puck's eyes slide closed of their own accord. Then lips are kissing his tenderly, but purposefully.

Fuck...

Puck thinks he could be melting. Seriously.

His hands come to rest on Kurt's back, feeling slick skin, pulling him forward slightly. Kurt is leading, strengthening the kiss, lips moving against Puck's, tongue gliding along his lip, begging for entrance.

Puck lets him. Puck thinks he might let the kid do anything he wants if he keeps kissing him like that. Yeah... he'll let the kid do _anything_.

Kurt is kissing him like he's starving, like Puck is supplying the very air he needs to breathe. Puck feels his fingers dig into Kurt when the moan escapes those full lips.

Puck can't pretend he didn't feel the twitch in his cock in response. Something about this feels perfect.

But Puck knows better; knows that perfect doesn't exist. Guilt blooms within his chest, causing him to pull away. He rests his forehead against the other teen's.

He can't continue with this. Where was it going to lead?

Most likely to Puck, disappointing the kid, hurting him just like he's already been hurt by so many others. Besides he wasn't even gay.

Kurt is watching him with earnest eyes, blue glinting with pleasure and a hint of curiousity. He pulls back from the boy, his arm still held protectively around his shoulders.

"We can't stay. They'll be looking for us at some point Fancy."

Kurt is silent for a moment, seemingly regaining his composure. Then he whispers, "Noah. Can you - can you just, hold me? Just for a little while. Please."

The uncertainty was almost palpable, shooting through Puck like a needle piercing his skin. He was quickly learning that it was an almost impossible notion to deny this kid. He responds by pulling Kurt more fully into him, his head resting against Puck's chest while Puck absentmindedly strokes the soft, wet skin of his arm.

After a few minutes Puck reaches up and turns the handle effectively shutting off the water. Something about the loss of the water serves to remind them of the reality of their situation; like the water was a veil of secrets, another world that poured over them and protected them soundly. Now they were just two teenaged boys sitting on the shower floor together holding each other. One very naked. The other just soaked.

"I'm sorry Kurt." His voice echoes across the room: loud, strange to his own ears.

"Why?"

"I should've been there. I should've been lookin' out for you."

Silence. Puck registers Kurt's hand lightly running over his chest.

Puck asks tentatively, "Was that the only time?"

He feels rather then sees the nod.

"He's told me things before. In passing. He'd make comments about how pretty my ass looked or that he could make me feel good if I wanted it. Stuff like that. I just tried to ignore it. But today... That was the first time he'd... I was running late. I had forgotten my br-"

Kurt's cheeks flush red. "Bracelet," He finishes quietly. Puck looks down and sure enough spies the purple, silver and blue adorning the slim wrist. For some reason, both pride and guilt seem to battle for first place within him.

"I was just getting out of my dorm when I ran into him. He told me that Dr. Schuester needed to speak with me privately and I had to follow him. I knew it wasn't right the moment we were in that corridor. I tried to push past but then he grabbed me. Hard. Shoved me against the wall. Started whispering things. Telling me I wanted it. Then he was t-touching me... And then you were there," he breathes the last remark, his blue eyes staring acutely into brown.

"Well, I should've been there sooner. I was angry I guess."

"About Sam?"

"Yeah."

"I know."

"What?"

"I know. I was kind of doing it on purpose. Hanging with him. Being around him. He's a really nice person and I do like him. But not in that way."

Puck bit his lip, an un-announced satisfaction overtaking him.

"So you wanted to make me angry?"

"Jealous would be more accurate."

"Hm."

"Noah?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you upset?"

"Mmm, nah. Well, a little maybe. Mostly flattered I think."

"Okay."

"Fancy?"

"Yes?"

"We can't stay. As much as I'm enjoyin' this, I'm not exactly keen on having to spend a day in the quiet room."

Kurt nods and begins to untangle himself from Puck's arms. Puck stands and walks over to retrieve the pile of clothes. He returns, a faint blush tinging his cheeks as he hands them over, keeping his dark eyes focused on anything but Kurt.

Kurt smiles sweetly as he pulls on his thankfully dry hospital uniform.

"Done."

"Cool. Shall we Lady?"

"Do we have to?"

Puck nods. He knows what the kid means though he doesn't say the words. In here, things have completely unfolded into something indescribable. This fucking shower room has encased them in a sort of haven without judgement or fear. Allowed Puck to truly _feel_ something for maybe the first time ever without need of a substance or booze or misguided inhibition propelled by depression or anger.

Once they hit that door, it all goes away; regresses back into what it has to be in order to get through their day to day.

And as they exit, reality crashes down upon him harshly.

Puck had fucking made out with a dude... Puck had held a dude while he was naked... Holy shit.

And he _liked_ it.


	12. Chapter 12

It should've been easy to manage. For anyone who was normal, it would've been easy. But Puck was never exactly normal. He was a bastard. A simple, straight forward, frustrated, selfish, self loathing, fire cracker of a bastard with low expectations of others... But mostly himself.

The feelings stirring within him should have been easily defined, easy to grasp and then say aloud. Easy to manifest and communicate, act out even.

But none of it made sense to him.

He kept catching his eye during group therapy; kept stealing glances across the table during meal times but couldn't find it in himself to let go.

Fuck, that was crazy. Puck was known to never be a creature of inhibition. He lived by his own standards... He lived to let go.

Not now though. God, he wasn't _gay_.

Kurt.

If Kurt was a Kloe, or a Karry, or anything but a fucking _Kurt_. Maybe it would be better, make some semblance of sense.

He hid inside himself, still present, still watching over the kid to make sure Gavin didn't try anything again, but he remained a loose member of the group. A silent entity that simply observed, grunted in response here and there, and kept mostly to himself.

The kid was patient with him. He seemed to understand something. Not that he didn't try to engage Puck in conversation or invite him to exchange casual looks, but he didn't push and definitely never commented on what had happened between them several days before.

Puck was truly thankful for that. In his mind, what happened in that fucking shower room stayed in the shower room.

But... It sort of didn't though. Not really. The memory of it was carried everywhere with him, burning his insides like brightening embers waiting to light up and blaze into a fire.

"Puckerman? Puck?"

"Hm?"

"You okay?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry, just got lost in thought."

"Love again?"

Puck sighs. His dark eyes rove over Dr. Schuester's desk, uncertain, then move up to lock on the other man's carefully trained gaze.

"I dunno."

Dr. Schue remains silent, waiting.

"I can't love. I'm no good at it. I don't know how."

"Well, I'm sure it was difficult with everything you experienced in your childhood. The only person you ever grew to trust and truly care for passed away. It's difficult to learn values about things like love when you don't feel you can trust people. I think you've been disappointed a lot."

Puck nods slowly. "Yeah. I have."

"Do you want to love?"

Puck stares intently at the other man. He nods again. "But I can't. I'll just end up hurting them."

Dr. Schuester nods thoughtfully, his fingers laced together in front of his face signalling that he's considering his next words carefully.

"I don't think it's necessary to be anything but who you are. As long as your honest with yourself, the rest will fall into place. You'll know what to do."

God if he had to hear that whole 'be honest with yourself' schpiel from one more person, somebody was getting punched. Seriously. Dr. Schue must have cottened onto Puck's doubtful expression because he hastened onward.

"Can you honestly say that hiding and denying your feelings is doing you any good?"

Puck considers this, his gaze falling away while he contemplates the question. Finally he shakes his head. Dr. Schuester gives him an encouraging smile.

"If that's the case, then the real question is what are you going to do to change that?"

The teen sits still, his eyes glazed over in deep thought. Dr. Schuester stands and walks around his desk to stand by Puck's side.

"I'll see you next session, Noah."

Puck swallows and then stands. He holds out his hand. Dr. Schue doesn't hesitate to grip it firmly.

"Yeah. Till next time, Doc. Thanks."

Dr. Schuester nods again, his gray eyes warm. Puck's not a genius but it doesn't exactly take one to figure out that the Doc seems to be proud, though he doesn't voice the words aloud.

* * *

Outdoors.

Again. He was outdoors.

He had time between his next scheduled medication intake to spend to himself. True he could be shooting hoops but he had become admittedly accustomed to lounging outdoors doing nothing in particular. It was starting to feel sort of nice, peaceful.

That's why he found it rather odd that after sitting alone, looking rather sullen and cross to the outside world, that he would be joined by Mr. Irish Spring himself.

The dude nestled quietly next to Puck on the bench. No words. No distinct looks. He just sits down and stares forward, his eyes locked ahead, zoning in on whatever it was he assumed Puck was watching.

"So I gotta ask you. Did you really try to kill your sponsoring family?"

Irish, also know as Rory, smiles mischievously.

"Now where'd ya hear a thing like tha'?"

"Around, man. So's it true?"

"Is it true you're here cause ya molested some ducks and then drank their blood in front of a group a' school children?"

Puck couldn't help but snort. Wow, the shit that sailed around this place. He snickers as he remembers the day in group that he had made some utterly moronic comment about 'fucking ducks' or some shit like that. Who knew? He was high as a kite off his meds.

"Absolutely."

"I as well, then."

Hm. Puck feels strangely comfortable around the little weirdo. Wittiness was always a trait he could admire in someone.

"So ya gotta thing for Israel then?"

Puck had indeed been staring ahead, his eyes glimpsing the figure of one, Jacob Israel, who was sitting on a grassy area under a tree several yards away. If he had the energy he would go kick his ass. He warned the dude about sitting under a tree acting like some Jewish Puss-cake.

"Nah. He just happens to be in my line of sight."

"Ah. Makes sense."

Several beats of silence pass between the two before Rory states, "Ya haven't been as moody lately. What gives?"

"And that shit is your business cause...?"

"It isn't. But I'm askin' so take mercy on me."

Puck pauses, considering his situation. He had never actually spoken to Irish outside the basketball court, and that itself usually encompassed Puck shouting curses at him. He's never participated in the same free time activities or the same group therapy sessions. They have no formal relationship with one another.

"I guess lately I haven't seen the point."

"What was the point before?" Rory drawls.

Puck hesitates. "I... I don't know. Fuck. I just hated everything. Nobody gave a fuck. So why should I?"

Puck falls silent while Rory stares ahead, his face a mask. Then suddenly the smaller teen speaks.

"It wasn't the whole family. Just the boy. He's a year younger. He kept doin' things, takin' me belongin's, blamin' things on me, causin' all this tension between me and his folks. He hated me bein' there so he tried to make me leave. One day when we were on our way to school to be dropped off by his Mum, I saw him sittin' there, smirkin', all cocky and self righteous... He'd just gotten me blamed for somethin' - can't exactly 'member now - the snarky lil' twat... Too good for his seatbelt apparently. So I pushed him out the car while it was movin'."

Rory looks up to meet Puck's eye for the first time since he sat down, a smirk twisting his mouth.

"He never blamed me for anythin' a'gin that's for sure."

Puck nods. Whoa. So, both stories were sort of true. No attempted killing spree against the whole sponsoring family. No vespa, and instead of being smacked by a car or vehicle, the teenaged son of the family smacked the pavement after being pushed from one. Puck was about to ask but was unexpectedly cut off by Rory.

"He was in a coma for a week. They got rid of me the same day. Some doctor's analyzed me, said I needed to be isolated for a while; that my thoughts were a bit warped. Dangerous. That a hospital would be more fittin' for me. So here I am. In a fuckin' mental institute."

"They say it's the little one's you need to watch out for," Puck says sincerely. Rory chuckles. Puck returns his gaze to the figure huddled beneath the tree, not really seeing him. And then his lips are moving, and words are coming out.

"I've done a lot of shit over the years. You name it, I've probably indulged at one time or another." He pauses, takes in a deep breath, then exhales.

"Chuck. That was my last Care giver. Foster Dad. Whatever you wanna call him. I always hated all of them. Mostly cause they always found an easy reason to hate me and dump me. But he was actually cool. Uptight and shit, but mostly he really tried to be there. His wife, Sharon, she was nice enough. Caring, tried to overlook my bull shit. I think with them, I actually somewhere deep down, wanted to try to be like - better, ya know? I really wanted that..."

Puck trails off and huffs. "I came home early from school this one day. Normally I stayed out late but I just wanted to get home for some reason - wanted to actually try to attempt this essay I had or somethin'. Chuck had come home early too. He had the babysitter, the same little girl who would come over to watch the younger kids, spread eagled on the fuckin' kitchen table."

Rory swallows as his eyes dance over Puck, who's still glaring ahead.

"I thought of her only bein' fifteen, about his wife who really loved the asshole so much, and then I saw the bottle. Every word he'd said, every thing he'd told me... It was all fuckin' lies. He was just some hypocritical sack of shit who cheats on his wife and fucks underaged girls. I smashed it over his head. Went upstairs packed my shit. I gave him a couple gnarly kicks too before I took off. When they found me, I was outside a liquor store, high and drunk out of my mind. Covenient store owner called the cops after I'd busted up his store. I was so gone, didn't even bother to run off when they came."

"And that's why you're here?"

"Among other things. But yeah."

Rory whistles as if impressed. Puck didn't realize that he had been breathing heavily as he regaled his tale. He was clenching his fingers which were laced tightly together as he slumped forward on the bench. He wasn't sure why this Irish kid became the target of his confession but he wasn't complaining. It actually felt sort of good to spill. Not really knowing the kid seemed to make it more acceptable, like there was less room for judgement.

"Things can change."

"Yeah but can people, Irish?"

Rory gets a thoughtful look, a genuine smile gracing his lips.

"Dunno. But I think people who want it badly enough, can make it 'appen. We're all fuckin' nutty in one way or the other. But as long as ya find someone who accepts your crazy, then change fer the better... Why can't it be possible?"

Puck relaxes, leans back on his arms as he observes Count Chinkula herself join Jew fro underneath the tree. A lazy grin spreads across his face.

Guess Jacob had finally grown a pair and actually talked to the Asian goth. They were sitting closely together, Jacob blushing while he looked to be explaining something. That Tina chick laughing and playfully smacking his shoulder.

Change. If you wanted it bad enough.

"I still think your secretly a fuckin' leprechaun with evil intentions to steal my gold, but I suppose you're alright kid."

"Thanks. I think."

Puck raises from the bench and for once, actually knows exactly where his feet are carrying him.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** And your reviews and awesome explicatives make me melt on the inside like an old M&M you find on the underside of your car seat. Thank you guys very much! I'll keep mine coming as long as you do too. It's official... We're in this together.

* * *

"Can I talk to you?"

"Noah. I thought perhaps you were a ghost. You seemed to have disappeared for quite some time now so I can't be sure."

There was no humor about this admission. Puck gets chills at the sound of words, pregnant with indifference, cold and stinging. Apparently the kid's patience could only last for so long. Days may be acceptable, weeks on the other hand... Not so much.

"What're you doin' by yourself? Aren't you usually with that black girl and company?"

Fancy huffs and continues to bead what looks to be a necklace, ignoring the surly teen with a steady vengeance. The necklace almost could be something from a magazine Puck notes off-handedly. Only Kurt can manage to turn such invaluable pieces of plastic into something so extraordinary.

"Look. I just want to say somethin' and all I need is for you to listen. Okay? Then I won't bother you anymore if you don't want."

Cool blue eyes avoid his; they stay glued to the beadwork he's currently engrossed in. Puck gently places his large hand over the project, lowering it to the table in order to capture the kid's full attention. Kurt sighs, then gives a subtle nod of invitation. Puck doesn't waste time.

"I'm not a fag."

"You've made that painfully clear to anyone who'll listen. Is that all?"

"No. I mean. I'm not... I don't think of guys that way. I just can't -"

"But you still want to be friends and blah, blah, blah. Been there done that Puckerman. Except they never are. And all little boys like you do is run away and act like the homo infected you with some secret sickness, and then beat him up or cast him away, or both."

The edge to his voice is overtly evident, but there's a twinge of something else dancing over each syllable: Pain... Puck has a feeling that those words came from a place of unfortunate experience.

Kurt moves to pick up his necklace again but Puck's firm grip on his wrist halts the action indefinitely. He stares intently, hoping to communicate everything his mouth may fail to articulate the way he means it.

"Just let me finish Fancy."

Kurt's eyes are clouded with doubt, but he gives another nearly imperceptible nod while Puck allows his hand to cover the other boy's pale digits.

"I've never been good at this. Talkin' about feelings and shit. I don't do this. Ever."

Puck wants to make it clear, like crystal, how difficult this truly is for him. Kurt looks un-impressed however.

"You're a dude. With boy parts and shit. And so am I - "

"Astounding how your mind works out these types of complexities."

Puck ignores this remark and continues. "I'm supposed to hate you. Everything about you. But as much as I will myself to... To want to hurt you, cause you pain... I can't. I won't."

The last portion is meant to be a promise. A vow, floating in the air between them like a tangible force.

"That day (Puck doesn't have to say it, he knows that Kurt knows the meaning) I felt like, connected to you. I just wanted nothin' more then to make you feel better, taken care of. Cause you're so special Fancy, and you deserve nothin' less."

Kurt's eyes are flickering between Puck's hand covering his, and the larger teen's determined face. Puck feels encouraged to go on.

"I hate on principle, man. That's just what I do. It's hard to put energy into anything other then that when it's worked for me for so long. Kept me from being hurt, I guess. I could always be on the offensive, get what I wanted from people and then leave them before they could do that shit to me."

Kurt is staring at him now. Hard, focused, like he was analyzing Puck in an attempt to discover something maybe he'd been missing.

"Point is, I always push motherfucker's away. But with you, I just wanna keep you close. I just wanna make you, I dunno... smile or somethin'." Puck clears his throat. "Make you happy."

And there's sincerity there, shining in the normally dark orbs, the light making them swirl with softer brown tones. Kurt moves to open his mouth, his soft lips parting, but no words escape.

Puck pats the other teen's hand to signal the conclusion of this ridiculous confession. Fuck he didn't even say the words he really wanted to say. He couldn't manage those particular words. Maybe he never would. He stands up, shoots one last desparately vulnerable look at the lithe boy gaping at him, then turns to leave.

"I'll see you around Fancy."

* * *

It was back full force: those looks that they thought no one else noticed.

Kurt was always searching, observing Puck, watching him out of the corner of his eye. And sometimes he would even smile.

Puck's insides seem to ooze with warmth when they would catch eyes. But he was feeling oddly drained after his disclosure. What did he expect was going to come from it anyhow?

They had come to some strange non-verbal agreement. That they would stay away, give each other space, but without harboring resentment and with just enough space to still be in each other's presence when possible.

Puck had even taken to going to the stupid arts and crafts class just to be near the kid, smiling to himself from a far off table as Lady laughed and enjoyed the company of his female entourage composed of that Tina and Mercedes.

It's on one of these particular days that he enters the room to find Fancy and a familiar, broad figure shadowing him.

Mercedes was most likely sleeping in, Tina probably off lounging somewhere with Jacob, so Kurt had been left to himself. That's of course if you didn't count the giant asshole currently leering at him, leaning over his rigid frame to whisper in his ear.

Puck felt his heart pick up speed, beating against his chest in time with his pace which had automatically increased.

"Gavin."

The gelled head turns, then he stands upright, his eyes bright with amusement.

"Mr. Puckerman. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You don't."

Gavin chuckles. "Hm. Arts and crafts huh? Didn't take you for the _type_." The last word carries weight of some unsaid implication. Puck hears the hiss, feels it prickle his skin. Puck's eyes narrow dangerously.

"Funny. Didn't take you for the touchy feely _type_. Guess we got our wires crossed a bit."

Puck nearly smirks at the flash of understanding, the sinking of that annoying fucking sneer. It didn't last long enough in his opinion. The sudden blanch was soon covered up by a cool chuckle.

"I could say the same about you Puckerman." Gavin leans into him, his hot breath washing over his clenched jaw as he whispers, "guess your dead Mama raised herself a disappointing, piece of coked out _fag_ shit. She'd be rolling over in her grave if she knew."

Puck felt the nails digging into his skin his fists were clenched so tightly. Despite his tense position, his heart felt like it was stuttering to a slow drag. _Dead_... _Grave_...

His eyes widen. "Fuck you talkin' about?"

Gavin places his hand on Puck's shoulder, clutching it painfully hard though to any nearby spectator, it looked like a genuine show of affection.

"I was asking my friend Kurt here where I could find you and low and behold, you come straight to me. Tough being the bearer of bad news, but can't always be the nice guy." He sighs with a stiff pat on Puck's shoulder. "You ain't got a Mama anymore boy."

Puck pulls his shoulder away roughly, his eyes dark and shifty. Kurt puts his hands to his mouth in shock.

"You're fuckin' lyin?"

"Sad to say, but no boy-o. Got the call today. Foster agency was informed that your Mother Marilyn Stein, also known as Marilyn Puckerman for a time, was found last week."

"Noah," Kurt mumbles, a warning air clearly discernable despite the word being barely breathed.

"Her body was stinking up a motel room outside of Dayton. Seems she overdosed. Not surprising of course. Like Mother like son eh, there, _Puck_?"

Puck felt his body trembling of its own accord, his eyes burning. He felt on fire.

"Noah. Please-"

"Oops. That's right. I wasn't supposed to tell you. Darn. Dr. Schuester was meant to discuss that one with you. Guess I couldn't help myself though. I take real pride in being helpful to those less fortunate."

It happens in seconds as the last words are stated, ringing in Puck's ears like a painful echo of shotgun blasts bouncing off stucco walls. Puck grabs a chair and flings it across the room, flips the table over sending craft supplies spilling across the tiled floor. The residing counselor is ushering the other patients out the door while Gavin is standing aside, spitting orders into his walk talkie. Kurt watches, his hand still covering his mouth, tears spilling fast over pale cheeks.

"Noah, please stop! Stop this!"

As Kurt steps forward to touch Puck, calm him somehow, Gavin gets in between, wrapping his arm around Kurt's waist.

"Get off! Noah! Please!"

Puck was in the middle of tossing another chair when the room fills with several orderlies, their hands up in surrender as they slowly approach. Kurt is still crying, screaming his name as Gavin hands him off to two of the orderlies who have crowded the room, holding him back. Puck barely registers Jerry, a tall black man with a bald head and wisp of a mustache taking tentative steps toward him.

"Puckerman. You've got to stop man. I don't wanna juice you."

"Fuck you!"

"Puckerman. Come on, man. Let's calm down. Let's calm down so we can walk out of here-"

"No! I can't, I can't... She's fuckin' dead man!"

"Who's dead? Who're you talking about?" Jerry asks calmly.

Gavin intervenes. "Christ, I accidentally let it slip. I told the kid about his Mom. I don't know. I just wasn't thinking."

Jerry looks apprehensive, a glint of scrutiny passing over his features. Then he nods as if forgiving the mistake, focusing his gaze back to Puck who's breathing heavily, hands tightly wrapped around the back of a chair.

"I wanna help you man. But I can't help you if you're throwin' things. I need you to stay calm."

Puck feels his grip on the chair tighten. And then he sees Kurt. He's crying softly, his lean body being mostly obscured by several white uniformed men. But he sees it all the same: the silent yet very urgent plea for him to desist. Puck huffs, nods his head and sits himself in the chair he had been gripping fiercely.

The group descends upon him like vultures devouring rotting flesh. He hears Jerry yell out for them to take it easy, Kurt scream his name, fight and kick to be allowed to go to him. Then he feels the juice being pumped into him, the tell tale sting of a needle piercing him.

The dosage must be irregularly high because it takes him into darkness within seconds.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** I thought about doing a splice job on this chap but it just felt like it needed to be a stand alone. Enjoy my dears!

* * *

Groggy would be an understatement. His eyes crack open, a blurred mass of gray tones coming into sight. His fingers brush against the floor, tickled by the softness of the fabric... Was that padding?

He groans loudly. Of course, the quiet room: a padded nightmare of absolute solitude.

He thinks it must be night time. Yes, definitely. His eyes cast over the hint of moon light venting in through the tiny window overhead.

Puck lifts his hand, watching it be swallowed into the light trickling in through the window. He's fascinated by the hues of blue that arrange themselves over his skin, morphing as he turns his hand experimentally.

Echoes... Words... Somebody's speaking he thinks.

They filter in through the thin bars of the cell window on the door.

The voice is soft, soothing. It feels familiar.

"Noah, can you hear me? Noah?"

"Ma's it'chu?" He answers groggily, slurring his words together. "Yur ded."

Then another deep voice permeates the air, filtering in the space like a booming presence despite it being whispered. It was talking to the other voice that sounded like his Mom.

"I can get fired kid."

"Please. Mr. Johnson. He needs someone. Please."

Silence.

"Alright. I can give you no more then an hour. I'll be back when I do my second round." The distinct sound of keys are heard clanking and jingling, then the door cracks open.

The figure turns. "Thank you sir."

"Jerry will do. I'll be back when I said." The door closes behind the figure who's starting to come into focus.

"Ya died Ma. Yur ded."

"Noah?"

"Why'd ya leave?"

"I didn't. I'm here now."

"You'neve ther. Alwaaays, gone."

Puck attempts to lift his head but finds that it feels too heavy, so he keeps his blurry vision trained on the padded floor, his long fingers tracing over the padded material.

He feels the squeeze on his shoulder, but he doesn't look up.

"I hated'chu. Ferloong time. Now-yur ded. And I'm fuckin'sad bout-it."

The person says nothing, just remains silent though Puck feels the squeeze on his shoulder become more assured.

"Ya used-ta leave me with-yur boyfren's..." Puck laughs derisively, "they used ta beat-the shi outta me. Tell me I's wurth'lis. Yur so high, y'didn't care. When ya were there anyway."

The hand squeezing his shoulder travels down his arm and closes over his hand. He observes it, noticing that it looks larger then what he remembers his Mom's hand to be. His eyes rove over the pale skin, then up a lean torso clad in a familiar gray uniform, then meets blue eyes.

"K-Kurt?" Puck whispers, tears welling his eyes.

Kurt nods his head in response, his other hand lifting to gently cup Puck's cheek.

"She's d-dead Kurt."

"I know honey. I know."

The tears spill then. And Puck hates himself for it. Why should he be crying for someone who left him, treated him like complete shit all the time?

"I shudn't care Kurt. But I do."

"She was your Mother sweetie. We can't help but care a little."

"I was'a bad son. That's-why she didn't-why she didn't want me."

Kurt cups his face with both hands then, staring hard into Puck's wet eyes.

"No. You're a good person who was born into crappy circumstances. That's all. You cover it up with your meaness and anger. But I see you. I can _see_ you. And you're not her, or any other bad thing you try to be."

Puck breaks down then. His head falling forward onto Kurt's shoulder, his muscular arms clinging to Kurt like a child clings to his favorite Teddy.

And he cries. He let's it all go. Each warm tear a larger representation of a long overdue release. He does this while Kurt whispers soft words of comfort, brushing his fingers through Puck's dark locks, tender lips pressing to his scalp here and there.

The two stay like this for a while. Long enough for Puck to no longer feel disoriented and long enough for his tears to dry up. He looks up and sees the exposed neck, soft pale skin greeting him from his place on Kurt's shoulder.

He doesn't hesitate to tilt his head up and kiss the spot. Then kiss it again, and again.

Kurt moans; a sound that shoots straight into Puck's cock. Puck peppers kisses over Kurt's neck, then jaw, then finally meets his soft lips.

He feels the urgency overwhelm him. He needs to feel this boy. He wants him more than anything on this planet.

They kiss hungrily, attacking each others mouths. Puck slides atop Kurt, pinning him underneath his weight and kissing him fiercely, their tongues fighting for dominance.

"Mmm, N-Noah."

Puck feels himself thrust, the friction delicious, sending every nerve of his cock into overdrive. He growls, thrusting again as he pins Kurt's hands to the padded floor and moves his hips, their now hardened cocks dancing against each other perfectly. Kurt's legs are wrapped around his waist, his hands pulling Puck forward into their kissing.

Puck pulls away, his eyes piercing Kurt's. He doesn't say anything, but he asks permission with his eyes as he gently caresses Kurt's thigh, gliding his fingertips where Kurt's cock is hiding underneath gray fabric. Kurt's pale cheeks are ruddy, hair mussed and eyes beautifully blue and open.

Kurt doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to. Puck understands the glint in his blue orbs.

_It's okay._

His large hand runs over Kurt's member through his pants, palming it slowly, his dark eyes never leaving Kurt's. Kurt however is starting to squirm, his breathing becoming more erratic.

"Oh God, Noah."

Just as Puck is beginning to stroke fully, Kurt gasps and lifts himself up, Puck pulling back afraid that he may have gone too far.

Kurt retreats to the opposite end of the room, leaning against the wall while breathing heavily.

Puck stands as well, monitoring the kid, praying he didn't remind Kurt of the awful, shitty things he had been subjected to by his disgusting Step Father, or that fucktard Gavin. The mere thought makes Puck want to blow chunks.

But then Kurt's hands are splayed on the wall behind him, his breathing normalizing, his gaze trained hard on Puck, beckoning him forward.

_It was too much. I just needed a second. Please, I need you._

Silent words echoing loudly in Puck's mind. He's surprised by his enormous desire, by the complete lack of hesitation, and he bounds forward capturing Kurt's lips in an explosive embrace.

He easily lifts the other boy, Kurt wrapping his legs around Pucks's waist as he grinds him into the padded wall.

"Noah. Fuck. Please."

"Uhn. Kurt. I think-I think I love you."

Their frantic motions slow to a simmer. Kurt pulls back to look Puck in the eyes.

"W-what?"

Puck couldn't believe it. What the_ fuck _did he just say?

"I love you."

Holy shit he said it again. It feels strange on his tongue, but doesn't leave a bad taste in his mouth. He doesn't regret it.

"Me too."

Puck feels himself smile, nod, then lean back into kiss Kurt again. This time it's slow and sweet; the kiss an interesting pace being that Puck still had Kurt hoisted over his waist against the wall.

A sound other then their breathy moans and curses fills the atmosphere. The sound of clinking metal.

Puck reluctantly releases Kurt and steps back, his eyes never leaving Kurt's as the door swings open.

Jerry steps inside taking in the scene in front of him.

Two opposites in every way, standing no more then a few feet away from each other, drinking each other in like it was the last thing they would ever be able to do. Jerry clears his throat which seems to jolt to the two out of their daze.

"Kurt. We need to go."

Kurt nods and walks past Jerry toward the door. He turns to give Puck one last lingering look, a small smile, then he's gone.

Puck exhales.

"Thanks Jerry."

Jerry smirks, a solid understanding forming between the two men.

"Everyone deserves to feel something other then pain kid," and with that, Puck was left alone with his thoughts.


	15. Chapter 15

He's sleeping again. Puck couldn't remember having slept so soundly without fits of insomnia, or nightmarish images keeping him awake.

It was surreal.

But really what was more surreal, was the reason for this newfound peaceful disposition.

He finds himself smiling when he spots the very subject of his thoughts sitting amongst a small group of teens in that garish gray uniform, smiling and laughing despite the desolate color scheme attempting to wash him out.

Puck beams when they catch eyes, and walks over without a second thought. They were all sitting at one of the round tables placed strategically along the well manicured portion of the lawn outside.

"Hey you pathetic sacks of lame. How goes it?"

"Hey to you too, Puckerman." Mercedes remarks, an obvious absence of her normal snarkiness. It seemed since Puck had been more openly friendly to Kurt, and in essence a little less of a prick to the rest of them, she'd sort of warmed up to him. At least enough to be able tolerate his presence without threatening to smack the shit out of him.

Puck pulls open his jacket and hands Kurt a carton of apple juice.

"Snuck you one. I know how much you like em'."

Kurt rolls his eyes but his smile couldn't have been more prominent or contradictory of the previous action.

"You just can't turn it off can you?"

Puck grins, a bit of nostalgia warming his insides at the words. "Bein' an extremely thoughtful individual?"

Kurt chuckles. "Being a damn thief."

"Eh, sue me Rainbow Brite."

"For what? All I'd get out of you is stack of completely disturbing and equally uninteresting pornagraphic magazines and some juice cartons. Not really worth the effort."

"Whatev's Lady. So I see we have one Black, one Blonde, an Asian, and a Gay. But no Jew. I figured something was off with this little United Nations meet and greet. Where's the Fro?"

Sam was biting his lip, obviously looking to retort but apparently thinking better of it as he remained silent. He shrugged while Mercedes looked to Tina.

"I h-haven't seen him since breakfast. He d-didn't really want t-t-to talk."

"You should be thankful, Goth. You actually didn't have to subject your ears to his wheezing, whiny ass voice."

He didn't think an Asian's eyes could actually become more narrow.

"Dude. Lay off."

"McConaughey. Nobody asked you to speak. Matter of fact, what are you even doin' here? Shouldn't you be off blowin' that Rory kid?"

"Oh, I plan to. I just thought I'd come say 'hi' to you guys first."

Kurt nearly chokes on his apple juice while Tina and Mercedes roar with laughter. Puck feels himself begin to bristle, feels the challenge writhing within him. But then he exhales, and allows a grin to reach his lips.

"Touche, Blondie."

Sam is still chuckling when he rises to leave the table. "Actually though I do need to get going. Due for my first round of meds."

"He was k-kidding before. Right?" Tina whispers conspiratorily behind her hand as Sam stoops to pick his hoodie up from the ground. The genuine question just sends Mercedes into another fit of raucous laughter. She and Sam exchange an entertained look before he turns to walk away.

Kurt reaches across the table and gently pats Tina's hand. "No sweetie. He's not going to run off to go blow Rory. They're not in a secret relationship, and no he's not gay."

"Oh. Okay."

She stares after Sam's retreating figure with a confused expression still etched soundly on her face.

"But the hair-"

"I know. The hair is a bit, well, gay, but I assure you. _Straight_."

Puck watches in fascination as Kurt and the two girls carry on their casual conversation as normally as any group of young teens would; as if they weren't trapped in some hospital surrounded by a bunch of emotional and often irrational craziness. It was ironic to him, the thought that they were in fact all just teenagers.

How easily it was forgotten when subjected to so many adult expectations and standards, that you get bogged down with being different, with forgetting that underneath all the pain and sense of delusion, you were just a kid too.

Kurt was just a kid. Puck feels his heart constrict with the thought of the things that Kurt had experienced, and now the unfair lot of being placed in this cage. He was far too beautiful to be caged like this.

The girls had moved on to talking about past crushes on boys or some shit, but it was then that he noticed Kurt now eyeing him. He mouths the words, 'You okay?' while the girls chatter on obliviously.

Puck nods silently. Kurt looks concerned momentarily, but at Puck's reassuring smirk, he smiles back with conviction.

Kurt keeps his eyes firmly set on Puck's when he says, "I need to get going too Ladies."

"Why? We don't have Crafts for like half an hour."

"I forgot something in my room. We'll catch up later?"

They look slightly crestfallen at this impromptu departure, but nod and say their goodbyes. It's only after Kurt has marched off that Puck realizes he's still sitting there.

He shakes his head and moves to stand. He's stopped by a surprisingly firm grip on his forearm.

"Don't think I don't see what's going on Puckerman. And whatever it is, all I know, is that if you hurt him, you deal with me. Got it?"

Puck is tempted to slap her hand away. That was of course his first instinct. He looks over at Tina who quietly nods her assertion. He feels the flare of panic rise up in his throat.

His second instinctual inclination is to deny, deny, deny. Sure he'd been nicer to the kid. But, so what? Couldn't he just be fucking _nice _without having to be fucking the dude?

He almost says something he knows will be grating and make her want to punch him. Almost...

"I could never do that. So no worries."

Her narrowed eyes burrow into his, searching for what he knows is some sort of sign of deception or uncertainty. Then they slowly relax, as does her death grip on his arm.

"Good."

As Puck begins to stalk off, he cant help but succumb as the urge overtakes him.

"Oh and Weezy?"

Mercedes looks over at him with a scowl, though it's noticeably less scathing then it's been within their past exchanges.

"I'll make sure to tell Sam that his huge guppy lips are only meant for _your_ snatch."

Her eyes bulge in shock and Tina was tittering with waves of fresh laughter. Yeah, Weezy hadn't been the only one playing fucking love detective around here. He could practically feel the vibrations of her pussy humming whenever Beach Boy was around. Serves her right.

God. He feels kind of sick to his stomach. They know. They fucking know. Who else knows about him and Kurt? Who else is probably snickering behind his back? Pointing and making faces at the fact that Puck is some hypocritical fudge packer? He barely registers that he's shaking as he marches back toward the facility.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** If you may have had any questions about who the true super villain in this story is besides Puck and Kurt's own personal baggage, I doubt you'll wonder after this lil' chappy. Shit be goin' down once again! Feedback please and thank you.

* * *

As soon as he enters the lobby area and manuevers toward the corridor leading back to the dorms he's pulled aside, a pale hand gripping his and dragging him determinately forward.

"Kurt -what the fu-"

"Don't talk. Just walk."

They're making their way toward the East wing, not too far from where the holding cells for the markedly suicidal, homicidal and for lack of a better term, deranged are kept. It's quieter here, devoid of any traffic or life; with the exception of the patients sporadic wailing and crying at night.

"Where the hell are we g-"

"Somewhere. Just anywhere away from them. I need to be alone with you. Now."

They walk along for about a minute before realization crashes back down on Puck. He shirks his hand away causing Kurt to stop, eyes wide with speculation.

"What was that for?-"

"Oh, fuck off Kurt!"

"W-what?" His voice is soft, nearly a whisper. But it reeks of fear, disbelief.

"You heard me Fancy! I said fuck off!"

Kurt's bottom lip was trembling slightly, his blue eyes suddenly overly bright.

"W-why are you saying this? What's wrong with you?"

"You! That's what's wrong with me. You couldn't keep your fuckin' mouth shut could you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about-"

"Oh, of course you don't. The minute you manage to get your tongue down my fuckin' throat it's all over the six o'clock news."

Kurt is shaking his head, trying to understand but looking like a lost, scared child who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and was awaiting the inevitable punishment that was sure to come.

"Noah. I don't know what you're talking about."

"They know. You're fuckin' fruit flies? They fuckin' know about us."

"What? I-I never said anything-"

"Ah, c'mon Kurt? You talk about everything with them including shit like the best method to remove your fuckin' ass hair. I know you talked to them!"

Kurt was rigid, standing with his fists clenched and jaw set.

"Whatever they told you, it never came from me. Did it ever occur to you that maybe they just figured it out?"

"No. How could they have?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's the way that you always seem to just show up whenever I'm around and engage in things like making fucking stupid necklaces. An activity you clearly couldn't hate more. Or maybe it's the way you always ask about me if I'm running late, or how you wait for me if I'm the last one leaving group, or how you keep stealing fucking juice boxes for me or give me your left over fruit from lunch and always check to see if I've eaten anything today."

Puck is blushing now, his lips pressed in a thin line as Kurt continues his rant.

"Or maybe it's how you're not completely ripping people's heads off anymore. Or the fact that I see how you look at me. And I know. I _know_, Noah. Fuck me, I get it. Even if you can't or won't ever be able to admit it to yourself, let alone anybody else. Your eyes don't lie."

Kurt was whispering now, his eyes trained on the floor.

"Even if your mouth does." And with that, Kurt turned to leave.

Puck went from rageful indignation, to being suddenly and incontrovertibly guilt stricken. His heart felt heavy with it: the guilt, simpering and cloak like.

Kurt had already made it down the hall when Puck had caught up to him and spun him around, pulling him into his arms forcefully.

"Let me go!"

"No!"

"Leave me alone Noah!"

"No!"

Kurt was pushing, wriggling, doing any and everything to get Noah to release him from the tight hold he was crushing him in. The tears fell from Kurt's eyes with complete abandon, his face flushed red as he struggled, beating on Puck's chest in hopes to initiate a break in his determined hold.

But Puck was nothing if not stubborn. He took every punch, every slap, and simply held him tighter, effectively pinning Kurt's arms to his sides and hugging him with everything he could muster.

Kurt was sobbing now, and Puck couldn't help but feel an unfamiliar sting behind his own eyes, warm and pooling, waiting to drift down his cheeks.

Saying sorry wasn't enough. The words would be empty, and Puck had never been good with them anyhow.

So instead he crashes their lips together, pushing them back into the nearest wall. Kurt had his hands against his chest attempting to push him away, trying to duck his head. Puck just cupped his face in his hands and held him steady, hoping that this: his useless, chapped lips would communicate everything that his words never would be able to.

Eventually Kurt's punches cease, and he relaxes into Puck, letting his hands finger themselves into Puck's uniform shirt, weaving into the fabric with an almost manic need.

The tears have long since left Puck's eyes as the kisses turn less frantic, and more loving in nature. Kurt has his arms around Puck's neck now, moaning into each caress of the tongue, reveling in Puck tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth.

When they finally do pull away in order to catch their breath, letting their foreheads rest against each other, Kurt speaks.

"I hate you."

Puck smiles. "That's too bad. Because I love you."

Kurt nuzzles his nose against Puck's and chuckles softly.

"I knew it."

They pull apart like they were both negatives in a magnetic force. Puck looks up with wide eyes and sees her slight frame shaking with distress, her green eyes burning.

"I knew you were with him."

Puck was un-nerved by her voice which sounded monotone and oddly even given her tense posture.

"Is that why you could never fuck me Puckerman? Cause you wanted _dick_ this whole time?"

Kurt is eyeing him, while Puck only has eyes for the girl watching him from down the hall.

"Quinn-"

"Maybe I just should've let you fuck me in the ass, huh? Maybe then you would've done it."

"Quinn stop-"

"God. This is hilarious actually. The biggest homophobe on the planet is in reality the biggest _fag_ there is."

Puck winces at the term but doesn't respond.

"All I ever wanted was to be yours. Don't you get it. I just wanted to be yours," she says brokenly, her voice trailing off into a raspy whisper. Her green orbs are now glued to the worn carpeted floor.

"I-I-don't... Quinn. Look at me. Please."

She was startled into following his direction. She had never heard him use that word before. She never knew he was capable of it.

Puck walked forward as he spoke. Kurt reluctantly loosening his hold on his arm. Puck senses the other boy's worry and gives him a reassuring quirk of the lips before turning back toward the blonde who was watching the exchange with blooming curiousity.

"I couldn't be what you needed. And I can never be what you need. What we had. It was just some half assed scheme so we wouldn't feel so lonely all the time. I can't_ have _you. No one can, because you're too good - too awesome of a girl to be kept by anyone."

Quinn's mouth is slightly agape as her eyes swim with unshed tears.

"What we were doing was just... It was comfortable. But I couldn't go all the way with you. Because of how broken both of us are Quinn. Because we were just usin' each other. It wouldn't have been right. In the end."

The tears spill fast from jade. Kurt is quietly wiping his own eyes.

"What if I tell? I can tell you know? About you being with him."

Puck observes her with unmistakable pity. Then looks over at Kurt with a proud smile as he says, "You do that Quinn. Just don't forget the part about me loving him too. Okay?"

Quinn makes a choking sound, then turns her gaze to Kurt, her lips shaking as badly as her petite frame. It's obvious she wants to say something but is steeling herself to find the right words. She finally brings her eyes back up to meet Puck's, who is gazing at her sadly.

He reaches up and brushes a stray tear away from her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"Did you ever love me?" She croaks, her throat surpressing a lingering sob.

Puck shakes his head solemnly. "No. But I like you. A lot. When you're not being all fuckin' loony and stalkerish."

This prompts a wet chuckle from her as she wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand, sniffling, and red faced. Puck pulls her into a hug which she gratefully returns.

"Well khum-bay-fuckin'-yah. What interesting little scene did I just happen to stumble upon?"

Puck rolls his eyes as Gavin enters the corridor with that ever present sneer on his face.

"I'd say it looks like you were getting ready for a threesome. That is if that one wasn't as queer as a three dollar bill," Gavin laughed as he nodded his head toward Kurt who seemed to shrink under his gaze.

"Leave him alone."

Gavin chortles at Puck's admission. A black club slides into his grip, and before Puck can blink, he's on his knees after being clipped in the back of the leg with a forceful blow.

"Noah!"

"What the hell are you doing?" Quinn yells as she kneels by Puck's side and starts to pull him up.

"Leave him and get going Fabray."

"N-no. I'm not-"

"Get lost or I'll put your ass in the quiet room for a couple of days. No where to hole up and spew up your din-din I'm afraid when you're in there. Just you, in a padded cell, with all your little self hating voices doing monologues in your head until you can't take it anymore."

Quinn looked stricken, fearful.

"Leave her alone Ga-Ow!-fuck!" Gavin struck Puck hard on his shoulder. Kurt ran forward but was halted but Gavin holding out the club threateningly.

"Now I don't want to bruise that pretty porcelain skin of yours Dorothy. So unless you want me to give you some natural eye make up, I would stay put. Move it Fabray!" He shouted as an afterthought. Quinn slowly backed out of the hallway, her eyes pleading and filled with anxiety. Puck tried to give her a nod to symbolize his understanding but he was in too much pain to manage anything more then a grimace.

Once she had disappeared, Gavin watching to make sure that she had fully retreated out of the immediate vicinity, he speaks with clear amusement lacing his words.

"And here we are once again."

"What are you even doing here Gavin?" Puck spits.

"Oh just searching for the patients who happened to not show up for their scheduled Arts class. Got word from the counselor running that group and decided to check on it myself. Then I looked in the computer lab, then the gym, everywhere they could potentially be for a leisure activity. But alas, no sign of them. But then here they are, in the most isolated part of the facility of course, probably sucking each others cocks."

"Look we get it alright. We learned our lesson. You proved your point. We'll go back to the Arts room."

Gavin is tapping the club in his open palm, his brow scrunched in mock concentration. Puck doesn't like the gleam in his dark eyes; doesn't like the way they keep volleying back and forth between himself and Kurt.

"No. See, Puckerman. I don't think you have learned your lesson. Not quite. Stand up." He orders darkly. Puck hesitates.

"Stand up, or I crack this over the fag's head and you get to watch him bleed out."

Puck swallows, not completely convinced that Gavin wouldn't do it and then try to blame Puck. He stands, trying not to put too much weight on his leg that's likely already bruised.

Just as he manages to get his footing, he's struck again in the same leg sending him crashing down.

"Stop! Leave him alone!" Kurt screams, rushing forward and kneeling by Puck's side. Gavin is laughing heartily, his mood completely jovial.

"Aww. Looks like the fag is in love. That's beautiful. Truly. I guess we'll have to see how much he really cares."

Puck is clutching his leg, writhing on the floor, but still can't help but feel the shiver run up his spine by the orderly's words. Like an unspoken promise of something terrible to come.

"Unless you two don't want to end up in the quiet room for a week, and you don't want your little fuck buddy to be in a wheel chair-" he added pointing at Kurt with the club to indicate Puck- "then I'm going to need you to show me what you two do."

"W-what?"

"C'mon Hummel. Show me what you two fags get up to."

"I-I don't understand-"

"I want you to blow Puckerman here."

Puck's head is reeling. Surely someone was around? Fuck - how is it that they always manage to be in the most deserted fucking corridors ever in this place when shit goes down?

"You're fuckin' sick! Aw!" Another blow to his leg. Kurt was still in shock, his eyes shallow and haunted looking.

"Y-you can't do this," He breathes.

Another blow rains down on Puck's leg causing him to cry out.

"C'mon Hummel. If you really don't want me to hurt your little boyfriend, then you'll suck him clean."

Another strike. And Puck is sure his knee may be dislocated.

"Okay. P-p-please. Just stop hurting him."

"K-Kurt. Get away from me," Puck pleads. But there's something in Kurt that seems broken, unattainable. He stalks toward him, crawling over like a feline creature. The movements are exuding a wanton sexual prowess; they're obviously well practiced. Easy enough for a kid who's spent too many nights being somebody's whore Puck thinks sadly.

"Puckerman. You'd better sit up and let him or I'm gonna do worse things to him after I lock your ass up in the quiet room. Got it? Better to cooperate if you want to save him from dealing with me later."

Puck has had many moments in his life where's he felt powerless. But nearly nothing that he could think of could compare to his sense of helplessness at that very moment. He didn't care if Gavin beat him to death, but the very thought of Kurt being hurt, being used by him... It seriously broke him.

He wordlessly sits up.

"Stand. Up. Puckerman."

Kurt is already waiting for him on his knees, his blue eyes dead looking. Puck slowly gets to his feet, putting all his weight on one leg as the other throbs painfully.

Puck stares ahead at Gavin. He wishes that the man could feel the hate he feels coursing through him. Wishes that his eyes could glare holes in his beer belly, and that Puck could use the entrails poking through the holes to wrap around his neck and choke the bastard to death. This image is what he focuses on. Anything to pretend that he doesn't feel Kurt's hands rubbing up his thighs, inching toward his draw string.

"Touch him. Cup him through his pants before you do it." Gavin sounds slightly breathless, his teeth teasing his lip as he watches in anticipation.

Kurt obeys immediately. Puck feels tears prick his eyes when Kurt's hand runs over his cock, moving up and down carefully.

God help him. He feels himself getting hard under Kurt's touch, and he hates himself for it.

"Stroke him. Hard."

Puck makes the mistake of looking down at Kurt.

He had never seen the boy look so horribly... non-existant. His eyes were vacant, although they were trained forward on Puck's lengthening cock; his hand wrapping around Puck through the thin fabric and stroking fervently.

At first all he could hear was the buzzing in his head, Gavin's steady breathing, and the shuffling of cloth. Then he heard it: the distinct sound of metal tinkling and clanging.

Gavin must've heard it too, because he took a steadying breath and shook his head as if ridding himself of this other personality as the sound neared them.

Jerry's voice boomed out into the previously empty corridor as he rounded the corner and cast his eyes carefully over the scene in front of him.

"What's going on here?"

Gavin had already put his club back in his belt loop. "I just caught these two in the middle of a-ah-well, looks to be um-some _sexual _activity."

"What? You're a fuckin' li-"

Kurt's nails had dug into Puck's thighs causing him to hiss in pain. His blue eyes watching him hard, pleading as he looked up from the position on his knees.

Puck understood then what Kurt hadn't said verbally... A plea for him to shut up, let it be. Puck remained quiet while Gavin continued.

"They were both scheduled for Art class and I ended up finding them here instead."

Jerry exhales slowly and then huffs. "Alright. C'mon boys. Kurt. I need you to stand up."

Kurt listens without a word, moving stiffly, and turns away from Puck while staring out at the wall.

"Look you boys know the rules. That kind of behavior isn't tolerated and earns you an immediate stint in the quiet room. You both'll be in there for a twelve hour stay."

Jerry huffs again. "Normally we have to report these sort of things to Dr. Schuester but-I... I don't think it's necessary. At least this time anyway. But there better not be a next time," he warns.

Puck nods dumbly. Kurt just continues looking past them all, staring without really seeing.

"Follow me boys. I'll take it from here Gavin."

"Right. I'll just get back then."

Puck winces when he steps forward, catching Gavin's eye.

"What happened Puckerman? Why're you limping?"

Gavin's dark eyes narrow into slits.

"Um. Nothin'. I just-I twisted my knee playing basketball the other day."

"Oh. Well must've been pretty bad the way you're movin'."

Gavin's sneer is back in place as he walks away.

"Yeah. I guess."

"Next time make sure to go straight to the nurse. Do you need me to take you now?"

"No. No, it's fine. Let's just go."

"Alright man. If you insist. Kurt," he gestures toward the other boy who had remained standing in a state of robotic rigidity during their exchange.

"Kurt?" Jerry repeats.

"Y-yes."

"Let's get goin'."

Kurt mutely follows after Jerry who takes care to walk slow so that Puck can keep up as he brings up the rear.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** Damn, right? I warned you that some shit was goin' down last chap. Be prepared cause the rollercoaster is just beginning to gain speed. A special shout out to **chrissy**, and **lol** who have been my reviewing champs as of late. I don't want you to miss out on sleep but I appreciate the love, truly. And thanks to all you guys for every word, thought, sentiment and any other form of communication you were kind enough to post that I may have failed to mention. It keeps me motivated and brings me great joy. Now let's see where the coaster shall coast...

* * *

It had been the longest twelve hours he could ever recall experiencing in all of his times enduring the quiet room.

He felt zombie like when the door was finally opened. He had refused to eat. He just couldn't. And sleep wasn't an option. Not with the way his mind kept racing with worry over Kurt.

Well, worry intermingled with an intense sense of fury, and a strong desire to mutilate Gavin; to maim the bastard painstakingly slow.

His knee was still causing him discomfort, but at least the pain had dulled a bit.

He was taken to the showers and then led to the onsight depository for his medication. His initial inclination was to argue and demand to be able to see Kurt. God how he wanted to do just that.

But the time afforded him while sitting in the quiet room, lacking substinence and sleep, allowed for him to determine the best course of action. Fighting, arguing, making threats would only result in him being taken away. He had to do what it took to get to Kurt. Even if it meant following every single directive thrown at him to the 't'.

This wasn't about him. This was about making sure Kurt was safe; wasn't as broken as he had appeared after what had nearly happened between them... Been forced upon them, he corrected in his mind.

God he wanted to fucking KILL that son of a bitch with his bare hands!

He followed the routine. He had already missed group but every other portion of his day, he entertained, knowing that Kurt would be there. Even that god awful Craft bull shit.

Puck was surprised for two reasons upon entering the Arts room. One: No Kurt. Two: Jacob, sitting alone while staring out the nearest window looking oddly vague. He caught sight of Mercedes biting her lip, sitting next to that damn big lipped McConaughey impersonator who was quietly whispering to her. He made it over to the pair who abruptly halted their ministrations.

"Hey," Puck spoke softly.

Mercedes catches his eye, and gives him maybe the only warm smile she had ever directed at him before.

"Hey. Do you-do you wanna sit with us?"

"Sure." He plucks up a chair and folds his hands on the table. He doesn't make eye contact with her, but he feels her eyes trained on him, full of apprehension.

"Kurt, he-"

"He's not here," he supplies without thought.

"Um. No. He wasn't at group either. We heard he'd been in the quiet room."

Sam swallows and finishes where she leaves off, his hand stilling on the modeling clay he had been squishing absent mindedly in between his fingers. "My room mate said that he'd been taken to see Dr. Schuester. I'm not sure if he's still there or not. You know how the quiet room can be. Sometimes, it's... ya know, too much for people."

Puck's gaze darkens, searing into Sam's hazel orbs.

"Are you sure? That he was taken to Dr. Schuester?"

Sam's adam's apple bobs as he swallows again under Puck's dark glare. "Yeah, dude. Carl, my room mate; he said he saw him go in there on the way for his meds."

Puck breathes a sigh of relief. The growing tightness he felt bubbling in his gut instantly subsiding. He notices Jacob still staring out the window. Puck nods toward him.

"What's up with him?"

Mercedes shrugs, her modeling clay long forgotten, sitting in a mushed pile of mess in front of her.

"Not sure. Tina was in here earlier. She tried talking to him but he just... Sat there. She got upset and left."

Puck huffs and stares at the figure huddled in the corner. Eventually after a minute of observation, he stands and pulls up a chair next to the dweeb.

"What's your deal Israel?"

Clearly hearing himself referred to by his actual name had startled Jacob out of his silent revery, at least for a moment, as he had turned his head ever so slightly, staring blankly at Puck for a milisecond, then returned his gaze to the window.

"Leave me alone Puckerman."

His voice sounded lifeless. Dead to Puck's ears.

"Since when have I ever taken orders from you Jew stain?"

No response. Okay, his old intimidation bit was easily lost on this shell of a boy sitting closed off from him and the world. He'd have to go for another approach.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Puck's voice sounded strange to his own ears. Like he actually felt empathy. It was weird, and gross. But at the moment he didn't care. Once again, Jacob would serve as a distraction for his own anxiety and desparation. Even if he went and dragged Kurt from Dr. Schuester's office, what was he supposed to say? Would he even be able to look him in the eye after what had happened? Maybe it was better to just give him space for a bit. Let Dr. Schue try to reach the kid since he was sure he would fail miserably himself. He barely registers that Jacob was now speaking.

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

Puck scowls, uncertain where this is going. "So, what's bad about that? This place is like a fuckin' prison?"

"This place - this place is comfortable. I like it here."

"S'that why you looked like somebody stole your secret stash of sock nickles or some shit? You don't want to leave?"

Jacob shakes his head.

"I'm not going home when I leave. I'm going to live with _him_."

Puck feels slightly unsettled by the contemptous tone, not one he would ever associate with someone as normally mild mannered as Jacob usually was.

"Who?"

"My Dad."

Puck chuckles without humor. "What does he slap you around or somethin'?"

"No. He just... He hates me."

Something about the way he says it seems to bare the kid's soul. Every shattered piece and shard of pain stabbing outward with each breathy word.

"I-I can't live there. Not with him. But my Mom says I c-can't go back with her. Not while she's still working things out with Ted. She can't handle me staying there right now. So I have to go live with him."

Puck strains to recall Jacob's story; why he was here exactly. He just thought of him as some kid who had been picked on at school for his nerdish ways until he couldn't take it anymore; until his esteem had been ground into dust at his loafered feet. He had never really asked. But now he has the feeling that there was much more to his story.

"What about the Goth chi - I mean, Tina?"

Jacob seems to stiffen, then breathes out a shaky sigh. "She won't be out of here for at least another few months. She's better off. I-I don't know what I'll be like by then, if I ever even see her again."

Puck feels genuinely sad for the dude. He was devastated. That much was obvious. Puck takes in a deep breath and just as he exhales, comes to a strange decision that somehow just feels right.

"Look I don't know what kind of shit you had to deal with or what you'd have in store now with your Pops. But whatever it is, no matter how fucked up or crazy, there's always something worth fightin' through it for."

Jacob looks at him fully then, a teary glisten emerging from behind his glasses.

Puck continues resolutely. "Maybe she's it."

Then something else even more unexpected happens.

"I know what it's like. To go through what feels like endless shit. I think though, all that crap, made me realize how much I really love him. How much I want to be there for him."

Jacob looks startled at this revelation, but his eyes carry an understanding of sorts. Puck doesn't have to spell out who the _him_ is. Jacob just seems to know.

"So, er-you're sort of like... Gay, now?"

Puck grins widely. "For him? I'm the biggest fudge packer around."

Jacob releases a nervous chuckle. Puck was certain that the insults were coming. This person, his once regular prey; Puck was sort of at his mercy. But Puck couldn't help but admit to himself how good it felt to finally be honest with someone. To actually say the words aloud on his own terms.

"Go figure. No wonder you were always so angry. Being in love, and not being able to express it... It kind of sucks."

Puck pauses, considering this. _'In love'_. Is that what this was?

"Yep. That it does Fro. That it does."

And Puck had never felt more grateful to a person for not giving him shit when the opportunity was so very available, probably dangerously enticing. He actually respected this kid in all his dweebish glory.

"Course that doesn't exactly account for all the times you were kind of an asshole before he came here."

Puck snorts and claps Jacob on the shoulder good naturedly. "Nah. But I had to keep busy in here somehow dude."

Jacob had flinched a bit at Puck's gesture, but then relaxed when he gleened the grin accompanying it. He nodded with a wry grin of his own, his eyes looking a little more bright, and a lot less vacant.

"Thanks Puckerman. See ya around."

"Later Israel."

Jacob re-adjusts his glasses as he stands, then exits wordlessly. Puck continues to sit near the window, thinking as his eyes trace over the scenery outside the window.

Life outside of here. What would it be like for him?

Hell, if he played his cards right, what would it be like for _them_?

* * *

He made it for another ten minutes before he burst out the door and sped as fast as he could manage with a bum knee, toward Dr. Schue's office. Puck couldn't find the strength to wait anymore.

Once he made it, he pounded on the door in a rush.

Dr. Schue flung the door open with wide eyes. "Puckerman. What're you doing? Aren't you due in the Arts room now?"

"Yeah," He gulped down a large breath, trying to refill his lungs and regain composure enough to form coherent speech. "I - I - Need - Wh-where's Kurt?"

"Um, Kurt Hummel? He just left about twenty minutes ago."

Puck felt the panic rising, taking over his body.

"He went back to his dorm. I thought it was best if he rested today."

Panic. Holy crap it was drowning him.

"What? Who-who took him? Who took him back?"

Dr. Schuester was starting to be effected by the wild look in Puck's eyes as his mouth formed a thin line. His gray eyes growing concerned.

"Gavin. But then... Hey! Puckerman! Puck?"

Puck didn't register anything else. He would kill him, simple as that. This time if he touched him there was no turning back.

When he rounded the corner to Kurt's dorm however, he was surprised to find -

"Jerry?"

"Hey kid."

"I thought, I thought that -"

"I figured you might be stoppin' by. I offered to take him myself. Think Gavin's been workin' a little too hard. So he's off for the day."

Puck felt that there was something else underlying Jerry's admission but he didn't question it.

"Is he in there?"

Jerry nodded. Puck didn't miss the sympathy etched in his expression. The hint of grim understanding in his controlled smirk.

"Can I - Can I see him?"

Jerry eyes him carefully, his expression neutral.

"Please." Puck adds with as much sincerity as he could muster.

Jerry sighs, then nods. "But you only get a few minutes. And I'll be standing right outside the door."

Puck is almost about to argue but then gathers how much of a favor any time at all actually is to him.

"Thank you."

"Don't waste it, kid."

Puck pushes the door forward and closes it with a soft click. Kurt is in his bed, contorted into a tight ball, facing away from the door.

"Kurt?"

The other boy remains silent. Puck moves toward the bed and carefully deposits himself on the edge. It takes every fiber of his being to not reach out and touch the crumpled frame.

"Kurt. Can you please - Please just look at me."

Silence. Puck decides that he can't sit idely by while Kurt continues to suffer within himself. He kneels down in front of Kurt and cups his cheeks, forcing him to look into his eyes.

"Hey. You can't do this. I won't let you."

Kurt is staring, his eyes red and puffy. He remains silent.

"Don't do this to me Kurt. I need you. I need you with me."

Kurt just stares, his blue eyes now leaking fresh tears. Puck grabs his shoulders and shakes, hoping to jar some sort of reaction.

"Kurt! Please!" He hisses frantically. Puck finally unleashes his shoulders and turns away, his body now leaning up against the bed frame as he sits in a defeated heap on the floor.

The silence is eating away at his soul. He can feel his eyes grow warm with moisture.

"I remember how I used to feel after my Mom's boyfriend beat the shit outta me. Pain. Physical hurt and just... sadness. Like I was nothing. But I remember feeling so much worse on the nights my Mom didn't come home. Or I found her high, laid up on the couch or spread out on the bathroom floor. She looked like a rag doll; no thoughts, no love behind her eyes. And each time, it was like a little piece of who I was, who I could've been, got sucked out until all that was left was this angry, piece of shit kid who hated the world."

Puck pauses, swallowing a sob he feels beginning to constrict his throat.

"I know what it feels like to be broken. To feel completely worthless. I thought I would always feel that way... Until I met you."

He smiles sadly to himself. "You gave me something that felt worth enduring all that bull shit for. As cliche as it may sound, you give me hope. You make me feel whole for the first time since I was a kid."

Puck bites his lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. "I know how I treated you before. But I was scared. I was terrified of what I was feeling. And instead of just admitting it to myself, I pushed it away like I always do. But I know now. I get it. And I see you too Kurt. Not some used up boy toy, or a whore, or any other thing you've probably convinced yourself that you are."

The warmth traces over his cheeks. He grins as the wetness runs over his trembling lips.

"You're an honest, person - an honest man - with a heart bigger than this entire place, so big it swallows people up and gives them a reason to just be. You don't do that for just me. I hope you know that. I meant it when I said you were special Kurt. Because you are. You're beautiful and too good for me. But if you'll let me. I'll do my best to give you all of me. No matter how flawed and stupid and retarded I am. I can promise you that."

"I love you. I - I'm in love with you."

Puck rises and kisses Kurt on the cheek, brushing back his bangs. Kurt closes his eyes at the feel of Puck's lips on his heated skin, but says nothing.

When Puck closes the door, Jerry shoots him a look of concern, silently reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. Puck lets him, wiping the tears away with the back of his hand.

"I'll keep an eye on him. Alright, kid?"

Puck feels himself stiffen, a sudden urge to break down completely. Jerry's hold becomes firmer, more pressured. Puck can't stand it. It's all too much...

And then he pulls Jerry into a hug, which the other man graciously returns. It's another fifteen minutes before Puck pulls away, and manages to retreat out of sight, his very soul burning with defeat and desparation.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** We're more than half way to the end guys. Thanks for sticking with me thus far. This chap makes me feel tinglely (or is it tingly?... Meh, you know what I mean). Anyway I gets the tingles with this chapter. Read on and let me know how it comes across for you. Special thanks to **psykogleek** this round for your consistent support and of course to everyone else who so awesomely shows support for this story. Reviews please. And if you guys who've been reading have any thoughts or specific questions/concerns about characters, etc, please feel free to let me know. I like getting feedback, like I enjoy a good slice of pie. :)

* * *

Surely it's been hours. Maybe. Who knows?

A storm is coming. He can feel it in the air. The bitter cold clipping against his skin as the gray toned clouds swell with a promise of stinging rain.

Most of the other patients have been ushered inside or have gone back into the facility of their own accord.

Not him. He needs to feel something. Wants to feel the rain pound and beat against his skin.

Thunder sounds and lightning cracks across the back drop. Puck laughs wildly as the rain turns from a drizzle into steady drops that paint his face and arms.

He pulls off his shirt, letting the rain wash over him and standing in the open as if challenging the sky itself to a face off.

"Give it to me motherfucker! Come on!"

Puck runs in a wide circle, jumping and laughing maniacally, ignoring any lingering pain in his leg.

"Bring it! I'm readaaayyyy! COME ON!"

"Puckerman! Let's get inside."

Puck halts and turns to see one of the younger orderlies approaching him. Puck notes that he's apparently gained an audience a few yards behind the man. It's odd the looks he's receiving.

He was used to disgust, anger, outright loathing.

But he notices that Mercedes girl eying him sadly, Sam's arm draped over her shoulder. Jacob watching him with a hard yet empathetic gleam. Tina standing near his side, hiccuping with suppressed sobs. Irish leaning in the door frame, a lazy disposition that was betrayed by the sadness in his own gaze. And Quinn... biting her lip, silent tears falling as she hugs herself protectively. There were others as well, some orderlies, a few counselors, other patients...

Why the fuck were they all out there watching him? Looking at him with those stupid fucking sad looks on their faces.

He turns back around and faces the open sky.

"Nah. I think I'm gonna stay here."

The orderly slows his already cautious pace. "Puckerman. You can't stay out here. It's unsafe and a distraction to the other patients."

"I ain't hurtin' anybody. I need to stay out here, man. Just leave me alone."

"Come on Puckerman," the orderly tries again, his voice calm but firm.

Puck refuses to acknowledge him. He knows that eventually the guy'll probably use force and have to sedate him. He's ready for it. But in the mean time, he wants to let the rain cleanse him... Take away the shame, the hurt, the utter despair. Kurt doesn't love him. How could he?

He hears foot steps, knows that several other orderlies are lining up behind the other one just waiting for the command to rush him.

"Puckerman. You know if you don't follow my orders, we're gonna have to take you down."

Puck sighs, his eyes closed tightly as he mumbles, "Do you what you gotta do dude."

He's still not sure if he plans on punching and kicking his way out - not that there really was one - or if in fact going quietly was his best bet. Probably, but he felt numb, the old searing urge to be self destructive beginning to regurgitate and flow through him.

"Wait! Hold on!"

Puck's eyes flutter open. A tall black man with a wispy mustache and bald head is rushing toward them.

"Wait Dan! Hold off for a bit!"

The orderly standing mere feet away from Puck; Dan, turns and speaks. "Jer, the kid's gotta come in."

Jerry is slightly out of breath, but his look is steely, intimidating.

"I know. But we've got an audience over there that needs to be dealt with. This kid, he ain't bothering anybody. Long as he doesn't hurt anyone of them, or you for that matter-"

"And what about himself Jer? He can't be out here in this weather."

Jerry's eyes narrow as he glances over at Puck. He steps toward him, Puck leveling his gaze. Jerry is close enough now to whisper his words.

"I can't let you stay out all night, ya hear?"

Normally Puck would've sneered at him, maybe spat in his face just because. That was just the kind of kid he'd once been.

But Jerry really was a good dude; Puck can't think of any other guy he knew of that would've done what Jerry had done at such a high risk to themselves. Puck owed him. No question.

Puck gives a subtle nod. Jerry then says in hushed tones, "I'm gonna need you to at least stay under that tree. And I'm not comin' to get ya, cause I shouldn't have to."

Again Puck nods giving Jerry a weak grin that he's sure looks nothing like anything as truly appreciative as he feels in the moment. Jerry turns and addresses the group.

"Let's head back and round up these other kids. This one can stay out her for all I care. I'm not risking others safety cause he wants to be hard headed. We'll check on him before night fall."

Dan looks mutinous, but eventually begins trekking back toward the facility with the others without saying a word. Puck watches as the white uniforms converge on the gray clad teens who had been observing wordlessly, and then they were all gone.

Puck really owes that guy. Seriously. With that thought, he saunters over to the tree that Jerry had indicated and flops onto the wet grass. He hugs his knees to his chest and watches the lightning streak across the sky.

"I'm such a fuckin' idiot. Why did I say that? Why did I have to go and fuckin' say that?"

He tucks his head down, burying it into his crossed arms. Puck was losing himself. It was as if he had given the most precious part of himself away to some kid and had received a cold stinging slap to the face for his troubles. Stupid. Stupid to have admitted - no - said, those words... Being in love? What the fuck did he know about that?

At some point the tears come back again.

At some other point he somehow feels it: this intuitive notion that he wasn't alone anymore. Puck looks up and sees him in the distance.

It was an illusion. Maybe a hallucination from his meds. Puck stands up and watches the figure stop in the middle of the field, several yards away from him.

He was soaked. His gray uniform damp with rain water as he stands there watching Puck with wide, very blue eyes.

Puck is briefly reminded of the time he had gone hunting with one of his Mom's boyfriends: catching sight of a beautiful, lone, deer, completely mesmerized. Both unable to relinquish each other's gaze or dare to move for fear of capsizing this odd spell keeping them transfixed. There is something there though, something in the other boy's eyes that's beckoning to him.

They both simultaneously begin to stride forward. Their stride turns into a jog, then finally transforms into an all out run. They crash together. Clinging desparately to each other, their panting somehow pounding over the sound of the lightning.

Puck pulls back, his hands cupping red splotched cheeks, Kurt gripping Puck's bare sides just above his waist line. Then Puck dives in to capture the full lips in a searing kiss.

Kurt doesn't hesitate. He simply gives into it. Kissing back fiercely as if he owned Puck's mouth, tongues battling for dominance. When they finally pull back in order to regain composure - and more importantly breathe again - Kurt takes Puck's hand and leads them back toward the facility.

It's amazing how after all of Puck's efforts to be able to stay put, he so easily follows this boy without so much as a word. Kurt is leading him by the hand, striding forward purposefully as they move through corridor after corridor.

Eventually they stop.

Kurt pulls open the door and leads them into the dimly lit room. Puck wants to ask how Kurt would've known about this place. Sure it was the laundry room, so of course everyone knows it essentially, but not many know of its ideal use for secret trysts.

Puck shakes his head, his focus returning to the swishing hips, and supple ass leading him forward into the bowels of the room. Finally Kurt releases his hand and turns to face Puck.

Kurt reaches out tentatively to brush his fingertips over Puck's bare chest. Puck closes his eyes at the delicate touch. Feels his heart speed up as the digits glide over his nipples, then run freely over his abdomen. He groans when he feels a soft kiss placed over his ribcage, then higher, then a tongue flick over his nipple, teasing the bud with care.

Puck opens his eyes and pulls Kurt forward. He's searching Kurt's eyes, questioning his desire to move forward. Kurt supplies a small grin in response.

Puck pulls up the other boy's wet shirt. He halts when Kurt's arms are trapped in the fabric above his head, giving Puck full access to the lean muscle and pale skin of his torso. Puck takes special care to place gentle kisses across his stomach, then his chest, runs his tongue over the pink nipples, and sucks.

Kurt moans wantonly, struggling to get his arms free but Puck holds his arms in place over his head, continuing his ministrations. He drags his lips over his collar bone, nipping and teething the skin, then licks along his perfect neck causing Kurt to writhe and nearly whine with pleasure. He peppers the skin of Kurt's long neck with wet kisses, then brings his lips to Kurt's, kissing him fully and with as must passion as he can put into the kiss.

Finally he pulls the shirt over Kurt's arms and head, dropping the fabric onto the floor unceremoniously. They stare at each other, drinking in each other's bodies, feeling the others need swell in the air around them with each quickened exhale.

Then they're kissing again, Puck backing Kurt into the nearest washing machine. He lifts the lighter boy and deposits him onto the machine, never stopping his mouth from working over Kurt's lips, jaw line, and exposed neck.

Puck's erection is prominent, jutting against the clinging material of his pants. Kurt's hands are all over his toned back, raking his skin, claiming it as his with digging nails. Kurt's legs have found their way around Puck's waist, urging Puck to thrust forward which he easily obliges to. They kiss fiercely, hungrily as they begin to grind at a steady pace.

"Mmm, Kurt. Fuck," Puck hisses as his pace quickens. His head dipping down to rest on Kurt's shoulder as the small boy bites at Puck's neck, licking at the red marks he's managed to place on the skin there.

"Noah, Yes. Oh God, yes," Kurt breathes as their hardened cocks rub against each other through their pants, pre-cum pooling and sliding along their members like left over droplets of rain.

"I - I have to stop."

"Please, don't," Kurt whines as he's eagerly meeting Puck's thrusts.

"Gonna cum. N-not yet," Puck mumbles with difficulty. He's finally able to pull himself up and places a chaste kiss on Kurt's swollen lips.

Blue eyes are probing him, watching for some hint of disturbance or anger. Puck just smiles and kisses him again. It was a sweet and hopeful gesture of reassurance.

Puck swallows, and begins to kneel down.

"W-what are you doing?"

Puck just places a single finger over Kurt's lips, signaling for his silence. Puck starts to slide Kurt's pants over his waist, lifting him up in order to get them past his ass and piled around his ankles. Puck wonders briefly if Kurt always goes commando. It seems that way anyway.

His cock is flushed with a pinkish tint, pretty and aching. Puck licks his lips.

"You don't have to."

Puck looks up as he swirls his tongue over the pink tip. "I want to," he whispers huskily. Kurt throws his head back in pleasure, moaning loudly as Puck slowly licks up his member and finally takes it in his mouth completely. The burly teen knew that Kurt wasn't used to this. That he was always the one being taken, used. Puck wanted him to know how much he knew that Kurt wasn't just some toy, some dirty receptical for others desires. He was worth every bit of attention Puck wanted to give him.

He took his time bobbing up Kurt's length, sucking slowly, letting his tongue run over the tight skin. As he initiated a steady rhythm, he felt Kurt wind his hand in Puck's mohawk, carding his long fingers through the wet tresses as he hissed and moaned. When Kurt started to elicit an upward thrust to meet Puck's sucking, Puck knew it wouldn't be long.

"Noah, I'm gonna - I'm so close - "

"I want you to cum for me baby. Let go for me."

"I - I can't - I - Not yet." Kurt tugs at Puck's hair, pulling him up. He resurfaces with a distinct popping sound.

"What's wrong? Was I - Did I do it wrong?"

"No. God no. I just, I wanted to - you know - I want to do it together," Kurt whispers, his hand cupping Puck's ruddy cheek.

"Oh. Okay." Puck stands up and allows Kurt to pull him forward into a deep kiss. Puck notices a pile of clothes stacked near them on an adjacent machine.

Without a word, and still tugging on Kurt's lips with his teeth, he picks him up, holding him in place with one arm as Kurt stays wrapped around his waist. He uses the other to toss the stack of clothes onto the floor, creating a make shift bed.

Puck gently lowers Kurt onto the pile, and then repositions himself between Kurt's strong legs which were bare, as his pants had fallen from his feet with Puck's hasty movements.

"You're beautiful," Puck says firmly as he stares down at Kurt.

Kurt's blue eyes are glistening, and his pink lips slide into an easy smile. He then pulls Puck down to him to further explore each other's mouths. Both were achingly hard, cocks leaking and wanton. Puck can't take it, can't take the building pressure, needs to feel skin on skin. So he stops his actions in order to yank off his pants and boxer briefs, realigning himself atop Kurt.

"Noah."

"Mmm, yeah?"

"I want you," Kurt breathes.

"I want you too. So bad."

"No. I want you. Inside of me, I mean."

Puck pulls back, his eyes alight with wariness.

"You sure?"

"I_ need _you inside of me. Please."

Puck swallows. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"You won't. I know you won't."

Puck sighs, then gives Kurt a quick peck. "Okay." He moves in again to start kissing along Kurt's pale neck but then hesitates. "Um, I'm clean by the way. In case you were wondering. The hospital does blood work every month."

Kurt nods, a teasing grin on his face. "I know. Me too. I got tested when I got here."

Puck smiles and captures Kurt's lips again. He would kiss the boy every minute of the day if he could. It was so enthralling and intense. It made him ache and hum with need.

Damn... He really did care didn't he? Asking about one's sexual history, actually giving a fuck enough to calm Kurt's potential apprehension (which he noted that there didn't seem to be not an ounce of), to reveal that he was clean? Taking Kurt's word without question? Yep, he cared enough that it could really only be fucking illogical, crazy, wonderous, sheerly unexpected... _love_.

True he wasn't an expert on this whole... gay thing, but he had a pretty good idea of what to do. Puck always did have good common sense. He seemed to manage a decent blow job without direct coaching after all, so this... he could do too. He moved down Kurt's body, licking over his cock and then spreading his cheeks apart. For a brief second, he nearly laughs at the sheer irony of it all; how far he's come in the last few months.

A fag hater to an ass eater. What were the odds?

He plunged his tongue deep into Kurt's hole, licking the puckered entrance over carefully in order to slicken it. Kurt cries out, then Kurt pulls up Puck's right hand, and to Puck's surprise and absolute delight, sucks several fingers into his mouth.

It was erotic, so sensual that Puck momentarily forgot about what he was doing and couldn't help but watch with a lustful gaze. Kurt sucked three fingers with abandon, holding Puck's hand in place as he deep throated Puck's thick digits with lewd smacking sounds. Puck could've cum right then and there it was so perfectly sexy.

When Kurt released his mouth, he slowly guided Puck's slick fingers toward his hole.

"Start slow," Kurt directed.

Puck nods and takes one finger, his pointer, then pushes into Kurt's wet heat. Kurt moans and after Puck works his hole for a while, pleads for another finger. Puck obliges, stretching the ring of muscle with two well practiced (He had done his fair share of finger banging with females after all) fingers. On the third finger, Kurt stiffens, causing Puck to halt his immediate urge to plunge in and out.

"Did I hurt you? I knew I was gonna end up hurting you - "

"No. I'm okay. It's just been a while. Go slow, then I'll be fine."

Puck does as he was told, barely manuevering until he brushes up against a spot that has Kurt crying out. His fingers pick up pace and Kurt is now flushed in pleasure, moaning and meeting Puck's thrusting fingers with a snap of his hips.

"Noah! Please. Fuck me!"

That was all it took. Puck slowly pulls his fingers out and quickly positions his cock against Kurt's stretched hole. He spits into his hand for good measure, making sure to coat his cock heavily. Then he enters Kurt, pushing into him deeply and is rewarded with a pleasurable yelp.

"You feel so fuckin' perfect babe."

"Yes, Noah! Oh fuck. Harder!"

Puck obeys, smashing his hips forward, Kurt's legs locked securely behind his waist as Puck plows into him.

Kurt is starting to yell loudly. Puck shushes him with a bruising kiss, swallowing his cries as he thrusts faster and harder.

Puck wants Kurt to be happy. To be made to feel good. He wraps his hand around Kurt's member, tugging and pulling him toward his release.

"Oooh, Noaaah!"

"K-Kurt. I'm gonna cum!"

And they both cum hard: Kurt spurting over his own stomach as well as Puck's hand, and Puck emptying himself inside Kurt's tight hole.

Eventually they start to come down from their natural high, both sated and sleepy. Puck reaches over and grabs a random uniform shirt to wipe off Kurt and then himself. Puck is enormously elated; happier then he can ever remember being in fact.

Puck lays on his back, allowing Kurt to position his head on his broad shoulder. Puck holds Kurt to him as the smaller teen tucks himself into Puck's side, his arm slung across Puck's toned chest, pale fingers absent mindedly caressing him.

Puck releases a deep chuckle which reverberates around the space, mingling with the slight pounding and whirring sounds of the working laundry machines nearby.

Kurt can't help but giggle before asking, "What? Why are you laughing?"

"I'm just... I'm really happy."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm."

Kurt brushes a quick kiss on Puck's cheek. "Me too."

"Good."

"Hey Noah?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm in love with you too."

"Oh. Well, good."

Puck feels giddy. When the fuck has ever felt that way before? He laughs again at the realization of experiencing this particular emotion and asks the question that somehow finds its way back to the forefront of his mind.

"So, how'd you know about the laundry room?"

Kurt smirks evilly. "Wouldn't you like to know Puckerman."

Puck grins, "I would actually." Kurt turns to him, eyes alight with a mischievous glint. "I've heard that it's a good spot to go if you need to get some release - you know? - touch yourself," his voice became lower as he continued, making Puck shiver with a need that was quickly replenishing itself, "stroke your cock nice and slowly, while you think about certain boy's with mohawks watching you, wanting you, fucking you..."

An hour later, Jerry found them leaving the laundry room together, uniforms now dry and warm on their bodies.

"Fancy meeting you two here."

Kurt nearly has a heart attack as he instinctively grabs onto Puck's arm. Jerry grins but is tactful enough to hold in his laughter at the sight.

"Um. Yeah. We were just drying our clothes. No sense in catchin' a cold. Right Jerry?" Puck states with an air of reaching for straws.

Jerry decides to spare them. "No sense at all Puckerman. The rest of the facility is on lock down for the night. That storm is really kickin' in out there so everyone's been confined a bit earlier then normally scheduled. I suggest you two head to your own _separate_ rooms for the night."

Both teens didn't miss the emphasis put on the word 'separate.'

"Actually on second thought. I'd better walk you two. Wouldn't want any other un-authorized detours to take place. My son seems to have the same problem with needing an escort too. Likes to get in the refrigerator at night and needs a little help finding his room again. Maybe it's a guy thing."

"Still don't trust me huh, Jerry?"

"Not as far as I can throw you son."

Puck laughs and Jerry joins in. Kurt is smiling quietly to himself at the exchange feeling inexplicably - What was it that Puck had said earlier? - That's right: 'whole.' He felt _whole_ for the first time he could remember in more than seven years.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** We're winding down to a close soon enough my dears. The coaster is definitely destined to go through some treacherous waters. **lol**, to answer your perfectly fair question Kurt and Puck are both school aged, Puck being 17 close to 18, and Kurt 16 and some change. The hospital is pretty much composed of teenaged patients. I never mention it cause it doesn't seem important in terms of the story but I assume they probably have tutors or some sort of classes at the facility being that most of the residents are long term (months to years). Glad you found it smutty and perfect **CarterIsMine**. That makes me feel proud indeed. **Warning:** this chap will be heavy with some things I warned you about at the beginning of this story...

* * *

Puck was on his way to meet with Kurt to walk him to their group session when he spied Jacob walking toward him down the hallway. He had just spotted Quinn earlier. They hadn't spoken, just quietly acknowledged each other as they passed.

"Yo, Israel," Puck greets, feeling secretly proud of himself for witholding the obvious taunts and crass nick names he often threw at the kid.

Jacob walked past him without a word.

"Hey! Yo, Israel!"

Jacob barely turns to acknowledge him.

"Oh. Puckerman. I didn't see you."

"Dude, we're walking down the same fuckin' narrow ass hallway. How did you not see me?" He supplies without any real heat. Jacob just shrugs and moves to turn away.

"Hey," Puck lightly grips the dude's shoulder. "Where ya headin' man? We have group."

"Oh. Um. I forgot something in my - in my room."

"Okaay? Want me to tell Schue you might be runnin' a bit late -"

"No! No, don't worry about it."

Puck tilts his head as he eyes the kid warily. "See ya later, then?"

Jacob nods distractedly. "Yeah. Sure. Later," And he moves forward, his arms looking stiffly attached to his sides as he saunters away in the opposite direction.

"Hey, um, Puck?"

Puck turns around, surprised by the sudden exclamation.

"Yeah?"

Jacob opens his mouth, then closes it abruptly as if he's chewing on the words he seems to want to spew out.

"Er- Never mind. See ya."

"Later, Fro."

Puck shakes his head in an attempt to dispel that weird little interaction and makes his way toward the medication depository. Kurt was sitting on the edge of a nearby arm chair simply people watching. Puck stopped dead in his tracks just to be able to observe the sight of his... What? Lover? Boyfriend?... Well, his _Kurt_, looking light and feverishly happy.

Kurt looked like he was glowing or some shit. Seriously, Puck figured he could be pregnant judging by how toothy Kurt's grin is when his blue eyes finally spot Puck staring with a wide grin of his own.

"Hey," Puck bids as he sidles up to Kurt.

"Well Hello to you too Mr. Puckerman."

Puck holds out his arm, "Can I - You know - Escort you, or somethin'?"

"Of course kind sir," Kurt drawls in a mock haughty tone, and then loops his arm through Puck's with a laugh.

When they're in group, it seems to course by quickly. They sit directly across from each other, knowing full well that it's necessary for their planned non-verbal exchanges: sweet smiles, blushing skin, searing and sometimes bashful fits of eye contact. They make sure to share insight every now and again in terms of the group discussion to deter Dr. Schuester from calling them out, but otherwise make a bigger point to just bask in each other's presence... Puck, for once, not caring what anyone thought, oblivious to any of his peers looks or murmered words.

He just didn't give a shit. Because he only gave a shit about Kurt.

"I'm happy to announce that I'll be leaving the hospital in a few weeks."

Dr. Schuester gives Mercedes an encouraging nod. She returns the gesture, looking a bit more self assured, and continues. "I just wanted to say that... Well, I think most of us don't necessarily love the idea of being here. Some of us hate every second of it and can't wait to get out. But for me, I truly learned a lot about myself. The main thing being that even though I'm imperfect, and may have some emotional scars, it doesn't mean I can't love myself. And I know that there's others who will too."

She looks over at Tina, her brown eyes bright. Then she pointedly acknowledges Kurt. Puck is surprised to find her eyes now trained on him as she finishes.

"I know we're not supposed to talk about God in here. But I just wanna to say that I truly feel that things happen for a reason. No matter how hard or unfair... or just down right painful they can be. That you can always pull strength from Him and the ones that you love and love you in return. So you can live for your happiness, not dwell on the pain of things that already happened and that you can't change. If you truly open your heart, that is."

Puck doesn't break eye contact with her.

"Amen, Sista!" Puck mocks playfully. Her smirk slowly spreads until she's full on beaming at him. Dr. Schuester chuckles as do several other group members.

"Alright then group. With that, I think it's time to conclude our session. Thanks Mercedes for sharing that with the group and congratulations on your upcoming discharge. Thanks to all of you for your thoughts today. Until next meeting," Dr. Schuester says brightly while waving for their dismissal.

Kurt strides along side Puck with an easy grace. It just feels natural... Right... Or maybe like the two words spliced together or something. They have a little while before their next scheduled activity so they decide to spend it simply walking and talking.

"Now that I really look at you. Something about you is innately Jewish. Can't see how I didn't notice it at first."

"Probably cause I don't have a huge gigantor schnoz, a secret stash of coupons and a fuckin' hankerin' for big black women. No offense to your fag hag."

"None taken on her behalf. I know that was your best attempt at being PC. And I adore you for it."

Puck smiles but then goes quiet. Kurt nudges his shoulder. "Hey, what's wrong? Was it the Jewish comment? I'm sorry - I know how you don't like talking about that - "

"No. It's not that. C'mon babe seriously. That shit isn't - it's whatever now. I was just thinkin' about Jew Fro."

"Really? Why?"

"I saw him earlier and he was actin' kinda weird."

"Isn't he always a little weird. He's Jacob after all."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Hm. He wasn't at breakfast or group today, and Mercedes mentioned something about seeing him talking to - God I can't even say his name - "

"Gavin?"

Kurt nods, his eyes burning with clear disgust and unresolved angst.

It hit him so hard that he nearly fell over.

Kurt grabs hold of his arm in order to steady him as he sways slightly with the pending realization.

"N-Noah. What's wrong? What're you - Hey!"

Puck takes off at a blinding pace, rushing past patients and orderlies in a blur of panic. Kurt follows along, but even his long legs aren't able to keep stride as Puck races ahead. He vaguely registers Kurt's shouts, or other people's grunts of displeasure and irritation as he bowls past them, nearly knocking some over.

When he gets there he doesn't hesitate as he practically rams the door open with his shoulder.

"NO! Fuck, Jacob! Fuck!"

He bounds foward into Jacob's dorm, capturing Jacob's dangling legs in a firm grip, trying to slacken the pull of the make shift rope crushing his neck. Puck struggles to hold him up, desparation to keep him upright exuding from every pore of his body.

Kurt is gaping, his hands fly to his mouth in shock. "Oh God! No!"

"Kurt! Get help! Get someone!"

Kurt seems to awaken from his momentary stupor and rushes off blindly calling out for help.

Jacob feels cold even through his thin uniform pants. But Puck keeps holding tightly, pushing upwards with great exertion when he begins to feel his grip slipping.

A commotion has begun to mount and Puck feels himself breaking when Tina's screams echo in his ears from the doorway.

Kurt is holding her, trying to pull her back. Then a team of orderlies rushes in. Puck doesn't remember much after that. It was as if he was listening to various voices from the end of a long tunnel, barely discernable from his own whirling thoughts.

He does feel the heavy weight pulled away from him, and sort of feels it when a hand takes his and guides him out of the room. The pressure from the hand disappears shortly after.

Kurt... It had been Kurt drawing him away from the room as it was swarmed by people working to cut Jacob down. He thinks he recalls Dr. Schuester asking him questions, and Jerry patting him on the shoulder and then submerging himself into the sea of white uniformed figures.

Eventually after the commotion begins to die down, the halls clear of spectators, he notices _him_ standing in the adjoining hall entrance from his position on the ground; Puck sitting slack against the wall as the remaining staff are either brushing past or standing idle. Kurt is somewhere off in the distance, talking to Dr. Schue, or consoling Tina - he's not exactly sure - at the moment, he only has eyes for one person...

Gavin is talking to another orderly, his head shaking back and forth, his dark eyes attempting to communicate what Puck thought was supposed to be pity or some semblance of feigned empathy.

He observes him, but then his eye glimpses the gurney roll past, Jacob's pale hand - the only visible portion of his body - dangles lifelessly from underneath the white sheet.

Puck is standing, fists clenched tight. Then his feet are moving of their own accord toward the smarmy bastard. The orderly he had been talking to has just walked away to rejoin the left over throng.

"Gavin!" He shouts.

The slick haired orderly turns, a devious smirk stretching across his thin lips at the sight of Puck approaching. He laughs and then strides away.

"Hey!" Puck tries, but Gavin has already disappeared out the closest exit leading outside. Puck looks around, then sees the door just swinging closed as he rounds the corner. He moves quickly to follow.

"Hey there Puckerman. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Gavin is lighting a cigarette, then spewing smoke rings, his profile covered in semi-darkness.

"What did you say to him?"

"Sorry? Say to who twinkle toes?"

"You know who I'm talkin' about. Don't play dumb!"

Gavin chuckles. "I'm sorry. I say a lot of shit to a lot of people boy so you'll have to forgive my memory lapse."

"Jacob. Mercedes saw you talkin' to him today."

"Oh that." Gavin blows out a swirl of smoke slowly. "Nothin' much. Just talkin' man to man."

"What. Did. You. Say," Puck growls.

Gavin's eyes narrow, his head turning a bit to check the area for any other people before returning his glare to Puck.

"Alright. I talked to him. Had us a little chat about him leaving and all. He was being a little bitch about the whole thing. So I thought I'd give him a little pep talk."

Puck's jaw was hurting it was clinched so tight, but he restrained himself, waiting.

"Told him that his Daddy was right to not want him. How could anyone want to deal with a pathetic little shit like him? And that if I was his Daddy, I'd probably put him out of his misery myself. But why bother when he could do the world a favor and just take himself out. Hell I thought it would toughen him up a bit. Didn't think he'd really do anything. Guess I stand corrected."

You - Son of BITCH!" Puck roared as he launched himself at Gavin, landing a solid punch to his jaw. Gavin was able to counter quickly though, grabbing his fallen cigarette and smashing it into Puck's cheek.

"Aaaagh!"

Puck is momentarily stunned by the pain. Gavin punches Puck in the stomach and then moves to pull out his club. Puck spotting his movement, runs forward, tackling Gavin and forcing them to ram into the chainlink fence. They rebound off of it, causing both men to stumble slightly. Gavin rains a two fisted blow to Puck's back like a hammer - once, twice - but Puck punches wildly, landing several body shots and a clean hook to Gavin's nose.

And then he's straddling the dude, punching him in the face over and over again. His knuckles are swollen and bloody, but still, he keeps punching. For Jacob... For himself... For Kurt.

"Noah stop it! Please!"

Only that voice could permeate his rage, instantly catch him off guard, instantly cause him to stop.

Kurt was standing a good twenty feet away, not far from the door. He was accompanied by both Jerry, Dr. Schuester, and a few other orderlies standing with their hands on their utility belts, itching to reach their clubs.

"Puckerman. Get up. And get away from him. Now!" Jerry orders sternly. Puck swallows, his back initially facing them. He huffs and then rolls off Gavin, who is groaning steadily in pain.

The group hasn't rushed him yet. Puck thinks that might have to do with Jerry and Dr. Schue being there. Maybe they'll try to talk him down a bit before cleaning his clock.

Puck is staring now, his eyes drifting over the group. His feeling of deep satisfaction is slowly dissipating when he notes their hardened, almost sad expressions. His eyes suddenly feel warm.

"I should kill him, you know. I should rid the world of this son of a bitch -"

"But you're not gonna do that Noah," Dr. Schuester reasons.

"Who says I won't huh? He deserves no less."

"Whatever he's done to anger you Noah, you have to ask youself will it be worth it?"

"Maybe. Yeah," He breathes, the warmth becoming too much behind his eyes.

"C'mon kid. Don't do this - " Jerry adds hastily.

"Don't do what? Do this?" And he sees them move forward, but he was too quick. The club was out and around Gavin's throat.

"Stay back! All of you! Or I'll snap his fuckin' neck I swear to Christ!"

Their clubs are out now as well, except Jerry, who's hands are reaching out, pleading for Puck to relinquish his hold, to stop this madness.

"Puckerman. Don't be a fool, boy! This is only gonna make it worse for you - "

"Trust me Jerry. My life has been nothin' but a bunch'a fuckin' worse from the start. This won't make a whole lot'a difference."

Jerry and Dr. Schuester step forward.

"Don't!" Puck yells, the club crushing further into Gavin's neck causing the man to gurgle like a struggling animal and helplessly squirm against Puck's grip.

"Alright - Alright! We'll stop. Just put it down now Puckerman. Let's just stop all this."

"Noah - Puck. Let's calm down, alright? Listen to Jerry."

Puck has been watching them, the adults, trying desparately not to look at Kurt. He knows the moment that he does, his resolve will crumble like a house of cards.

"Noah."

Puckerman feels the tears building, but he won't look at him.

"Noah. Please. I know he hurt me. I know that he's done awful things. But this, this isn't the answer. All this is going to be is the end," Kurt pauses, sniffling, hiccuping back a sob. "The end of you and I, maybe forever. And I don't want that. The very thought, it makes me feel like nothing. Like I'm nothing. And I can't do this - I can't do life without you in it."

Puck's tears fall. His brown eyes piercing into blue.

"So honey.. P-please... D-don't leave me."

The tears taste salty as they leak over his trembling lips.

"I - I fucked up Kurt. And I'm so - so sorry."

Puck only has eyes for Kurt now, boring into them with every feeling of love he could produce. Kurt steps forward, slowly making his way over to Puck.

"This fucker -" And Puck puts tension on the club causing Gavin to make a distinct choking sound, the other men make a sudden jerk forward at the movement, Kurt halts his advances - "He hurt Jacob too. H-he made him give up. Made him not wanna try. If I just would've noticed sooner. I could've saved him. I could've stopped him in the hallway and told him how great he was. How great he could've been. God I was so stupid -"

"No. You're not. Jacob made a choice. It was his choice to make. Just like it was my choice when I tried to... To k-kill myself."

Puck winces at the words. He hated to think of Kurt trying to leave him. Hates to think of what his life would've been like had the boy succeeded. But Kurt didn't succeed, and now here he is, kneeling by Puck's side.

"But I'm so thankful. To - I don't know - God, or whatever space alien happens to watch over us."

Puck smiles softly at this.

"That for whatever reason, I made it. And that I met you." Kurt reaches out and strokes Puck's cheek affectionately. Puck closes his eyes and leans into the touch. His grip loosens on the club but he doesn't completely release it.

"Kurt," Puck whispers.

"Y-yes, Noah," Kurt chokes out, his hand running along his cheek.

"Kiss me."

"W-what?"

"Please. Just - Kiss me."

Kurt nods, tears falling swiftly as he cups Puck's face between his soft hands and pulls him forward. Their lips meet and it's tender, and gentle, and so very perfect. When they pull apart, Kurt rests his forehead against Puck's, eyes closed and hand curled tightly at the base of Puck's thick neck.

"Babe. I'm gonna need you to listen to me. Okay?"

Kurt nods again, keeping his forehead pressed against Puck's, shaking with lingering sobs.

"I'm gonna let him go. When I do, I need you to walk away from here and don't look back. Can you do that babe?"

"I - I don't know -"

"Please Kurt. I need you to do this for me."

It was then that Kurt pulls away just by a few inches, his blue eyes bright with despair. He bites his pink lip, chewing it nervously, and finally nods to signal his agreement.

"Alright then," Puck whispers.

Kurt dips his head for another kiss, this one full of unadulterated passion, longing, and every piece of love that he's ever felt for the other boy. Then he pulls away, his eyes never leaving Puck's until he is at a presumably safe distance. Puck shoots him a smile, then releases the club from around Gavin's throat, letting it fall limpy from his hand.

Kurt turns around and walks away. He cries softly to himself as he hears the grunts, the thudding noises, the screaming, but he ignores it, certain that his heart is breaking as he disappears inside the building.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** It was hard to do that to Jacob but I felt like it was necessary to fully capture the absolute evil that is Gavin, and push Puck to the brink that he'd been teetering toward for a while. The end is near and I know what you mean **chrissy**, I don't want it to end either. It was a helluva journey, this story. Thanks to all and please review.

* * *

"Kurt?"...

"Kurt?" Dr. Schuester tries again.

The other boy turns his head, blue eyes bright yet haunted looking. Dr. Schuester swallows, his own eyes betraying his years of therapeutic neutrality. He honestly can't help but feel absolutely sorry for the kid.

"You know that Puck - Noah, is going to be placed in the State Penitentiary."

"H-he's not even eighteen yet -"

"But he will be. His birthday is, well it's tomorrow actually."

Kurt ducks his head, his eyes burning. How could he have not even known?

Dr. Schuester clears his throat pointedly, and continues. "I want to do everything in my power to help him. I honestly do. But I need you to talk to me."

"What about?" Kurt croaks, wiping his wet eyes with the back of his hand. Dr. Schue reaches forward with a tissue which Kurt accepts with a sad smile.

"Thank you."

Dr. Schuester nods, returning a tired smile of his own. "Kurt. I think that Noah... Look, I don't know, or exactly understand the nature of your relationship with each other, but I do know one thing. And that's that your influence on Noah was nothing short of a miracle."

Kurt quietly wiped his face.

"In these past few months, since you've been around him, I've never seen him so open, so completely... Well, happy."

Kurt looks up, making direct eye contact with warm, gray toned eyes; his mouth slightly agape.

"And I know you'd want nothing more then to help him now. So what I need from you is for you to tell me everything. Tell me what happened with Gavin. What was Noah talking about?"

Kurt knew this was going to come up at some point. He knew that someone was going to ask and he was going to have to answer; to relive those disgusting words that caressed his ears in heated whispers, to feel the grotesque, unwanted touches against his groin...

But then he sees Noah. He sees that face...

_Kurt is standing in the corner of the lobby area. Waiting... He's not sure why. He told Noah that he was going to walk away, leave this all behind him._

_But he can't... He just... Can't..._

_Everything seems surreal, like he's watching it from some other time frame and the sound has been cut off like an old box stereo that shorted out._

_He can't seem to hear anything as he sees them, at least three orderlies dragging him inside and slamming him on the carpeted floor, pinning his arms down. The group is joined now by two police officers who have been led in by another orderly._

_That face... The jaw line strong, lightly dusted with a shadow of stubble, his brown eyes tinged with red from the tears, the thick eyebrows knitted together and disheveled mohawk laying limpy to the side... The split lip scabbing over with dried blood, a trail of redness sliding down from his scalp over the tan skin of his cheek..._

_Puck meets his eye. They immediately turn from dark brown to a warm chocolate hue, the ferocity in them dying away only to be replaced with an intense adoration. The fight goes out of him, and he seems to have regained some sort of inexplicable peace._

_Kurt wants to go to him, even moves his feet forward to do so. But Puck shakes his head, lying perfectly still as they slap the cuffs on his wrists. Puck smiles then, a full on beaming grin that enraptures Kurt, forces him to return the gesture when he truly wants nothing more then to scream until his lungs burn as much as his eyes do._

_He vaguely registers someone squeezing his shoulder comfortingly, possibly to keep him from running over there and getting arrested too. They squeeze tighter as Puck is lifted onto his feet and pulled forward toward the exit._

_Puck looks over his shoulder, his eyes pleading, smile beaming... And then he was gone. Just like that._

_Kurt collapses on the floor and the person who was holding him feels warm as they clutch him from behind. The voice... It's kind and as warm as the heat coming from them... Mercedes... She stays with him on the ground while he tries to hold onto the image of Puck's smile..._

"-urt? Kurt?"

Kurt feels the words slide over his tongue. "Gavin... Noah told me that he had said something, did something to Jacob that made him give up. And I believe him. I think with everything that he'd already done, Noah just couldn't hold back anymore."

"Everything he'd done? Do you mean Gavin?"

Kurt nods stiffly.

"Gavin he - He tried to h-hurt me... Make me and Noah do things..."

And Kurt quietly but directly recounted the things that had happened: Gavin's constant advances and threats, him pulling Kurt away and feeling him up, purposely telling Noah about his Mother's overdose in a jeering manner, the way he had ordered Kurt to suck off Noah after beating him with that club... And now instigating Jacob's suicide...

Kurt knew that the accusations would be met with an alarm that Dr. Schuester couldn't mask behind his normal air of professionalism. Judging by the wide eyes and fingers raking through his neatly piled curls, that's exactly what was going on.

Dr. Schue breathes out, and settles himself further into his chair once Kurt has concluded his story.

"I-I'm so sorry Kurt. I... There'll be an immediate investigation. Gavin's in the hospital now but I've gotten word that he'll make a full recovery. Until then he'll be on suspension while we sort through all this. But I have to tell you Kurt... There may be - This won't end here. It's most likely going to go to court. And if you really want to help Noah, you'll have to re-state the things you just told me... Testify against Gavin."

Kurt knew that it was going to come to this. He was admittedly scared. Terrified actually. But his fear... It came in an easy second to his absolute love for the most irritating, chauvinistic, pig-headed, wonderful, deeply sweet, and hard loving man he had ever known.

Yeah. It was no contest.

* * *

The trial was set to begin in three weeks time.

Kurt exhaled as he read over the words printed on the envelope.

It was from... "Noah," he breathes.

"I thought you'd want to read it while you had some privacy," Mercedes explained as she took a seat at the edge of his bed. Kurt smiles up at her; his first genuine smile in days she notes.

"Thank you," he whispers, his blue eyes shining with tears.

Mercedes pats him on the leg in a consoling manner, then stands. "Guess I'll just leave you to it then." She then exits, pulling the door closed behind her.

It was the first letter he had received in response to the letter he had sent just shy over a week before. He had started to get nervous that Puck had maybe forgotten, or came to some stark realization that the 'little fag' had inadvertantly ruined his life. With shaking fingers, Kurt pries the envelope open and unfolds the letter covered in tiny, messy scrawl.

_Babe,_

_Stop thinking it. I know you, and I already know that you're thinking this is your fault. Or that I hate you or some other retarded bull shit like that._

Kurt laughs at Noah's very correct presumption, then continues.

_I'm writing you simply to say that more then ever I think about you. More then ever I love you without a doubt in my mind. I can't take back what I did, but I can't bring myself to regret it either. Until I think about the time I could be spending with you. Then that fucking squirmy feeling starts happening in my stomach and shit, and I feel bad. I know I shouldn't say this with the trial getting ready to start and all, but I would do it again. If it meant protecting you, and making him feel for just a fraction of a second the pain that he's caused... And Jacob. I'm still having trouble sleeping at night. I have nightmares about it all the time._

Kurt bites his lip, feeling helpless and rather lonely at the thought of Noah suffering and constantly blaming himself for what happened.

_I know you've probably already heard about me being moved to gen pop (that's general population) just in case you were thinking it was some kind of dance troupe or boy band or something._

Kurt feels the worry rising, constricting his chest, making it hard to take a steadying breath.

_I don't want you to worry though. Ok, babe? It'll be alright. I'll keep my head down and do what I have to so I can get back to you. And don't be sad about missing my birthday. I didn't tell you about it honestly because it was never a big deal to me. Just another day the way I grew up. Hell if it wasn't for that shit, I'd be in the juvie center instead of this shitty place so I say fuck my birthday right in the ass with a spiked rubber glove._

Kurt laughs aloud at this, several tears falling cleanly over his pale cheeks.

_Alright well, it's almost lights out so I have to go. Just know that I love you. And I wish that I could hold you. At least for a bit. I know that being with you would help me get some sleep. _

_Yours,_

_Noah Anthony Puckerman_

Kurt re-reads the letter three more times before folding it up and putting it back in the broken envelope with a lingering smile on his lips. He's supposed to be going to group session soon but thinks it better to make a pit stop for some writing supplies. The words in his head are pounding too loudly to be ignored and not written down immediately.


	21. Chapter 21

It was cloudy outside that day. The rain swelling in the clouds, the hospital tinged in a quiescent, almost forboding atmosphere.

Kurt had felt weird. Something was just... Off. He felt it.

The reasoning became clear when Dr. Schuester asked to meet him in an impromptu session. Kurt noted that Jerry hadn't left Dr. Schue's office as he normally would once he had escorted him. He simply closed the door, and leaned against the wall, attempting almost comically to blend in. Kurt said nothing about this strange development and turned to look into Dr. Schue's gray orbs.

"Dr. Schue?"

"Kurt... I-"

Kurt was beginning to feel slightly panicked. Dr. Schuester was struggling to find the right words. He _never _struggled to find the right words. Kurt felt the lump forming in his throat, the tears welling fast.

"Noah - He - He's gone Kurt."

All he could feel was the beat of his heart. His ears didn't seem to be working right. Like the sound was screwy; like snowy static on a television screen.

"W-what?"

Dr. Schuester swallows. His eyes are so full of sadness, overflowing with empathy it actually hurts Kurt to look at him.

"Kurt. Noah... Noah's dead."

Kurt's finding it hard to catch his breath. His heart is feeling close to exploding from his chest; words lingering on his tongue, dancing around uselessly waiting to be said.

"I'm so sorry Kurt."

"H-how?" Kurt finally manages to breathe out through the feeling of his body crushing in on itself.

"Kurt I don't think it's a good idea to-"

"How?" Kurt says with more conviction. Dr. Schuester looks over at Jerry, who looks just as lost. He clears his throat, then starts.

"Um. Well, he was - They found him in the showers. He'd been - He was stabbed several times. Five to be exact. Four in the stomach and er - once - in the throat."

Kurt closes his eyes, the image of Noah's broken body flashing in his mind's eye, blood pooling around him as he clung desparately to his wounded neck, gasping for air that wasn't coming...

"W-w-what happened? Why?"

"My understanding is that Noah - Well, he tried to help someone. And some of the inmates, they - they didn't really appreciate that too much."

Kurt opens his eyes, the tears falling thickly as he stares at Dr. Schue in a numb state of shock.

"He stopped another inmate - a man from the Arian brotherhood - from assaulting an African American inmate. The next day, they - the brotherhood retaliated."

He felt it. Kurt knew there was more; could feel it by the glazed look in Dr. Schue's eyes as he seemed to be stealing himself for his next words... He waited.

"He was... Sodomized. By several of them. Then stabbed. It didn't take long. Coroner said he bled out in a matter of minutes."

Kurt was gasping for air now, the panic taking over.

"I'm so, so sorry Kurt," he thought he heard Dr. Schuester say from another time zone, from some other planet that Kurt couldn't quite register.

Kurt falls from the chair, collapsing on his knees as he sobs uncontrollably. He wasn't sure how he had kept it together as long as he had. Perhaps the shock...

_"But I think you'll be able to judge for yourself, what, when you end up going to Fairview. And I heard they like to break the one's who think they're the baddest first. Bent, buckled, and swallowing."_

Kurt can hear himself saying it. Remembers exactly when he had told Noah those horrible words. And now he was just sick, so fucking sick with himself that he was sure dying must feel better then this... Must be a blissful relief.

He just wants to be with Noah. He needs to be with Noah; to hear him, feel him, kiss him, taste him...

But he can't. And he never will again.

He thinks he recalls being lifted and carried out. Then eventually everything goes black.

* * *

It was as if he perpetually lived in the quiet room.

He had even missed Mercedes' departure date. He learned that from Sam when he had stopped by one day, quietly reporting her supposed understanding for his inability to be present for her final day at the Vista Point Behavioral Rehab Center.

"She really wanted to see you, but she understood," He had said.

Understanding...

What a notion that word carried. Did she know? Did any of them really know what he was feeling?

That his heart was bleeding out, and that he couldn't breathe, and that any remaining color in his life had been drained away like old bath water.

Dr. Schuester allowed him to stay here. He didn't have the heart to force him out. At least not after the day Kurt had been found trying to cut himself open with a sculpting knife he had stolen from the Arts room.

After that incident, Kurt was under twenty four hour watch. The first five days he spent crying until it felt like his very soul had all but leaked out of him, leaving a slovenly, broken, and ultimately void entity in its wake.

By day ten, Dr. Schuester had threatened to put him in the health ward on an IV drip if he continued to refuse food regularly... Day eleven saw the return of Kurt taking full meals again. If anything just to avoid having to leave. He never wanted to leave this room.

He heard them. Their attempts to talk to him, report recent developments with Noah's case, try to console him... He heard them all from some far away place in his mind, but he didn't really listen. Not to Mercedes before she'd left, nor Jerry, not Dr. Schuester or even surprisingly enough, that Quinn girl. They were all just words. Words wouldn't fix anything. Words wouldn't bring Noah back.

Day nineteen saw the first shift in his haze of absolute despair.

Dr. Schuester had told him that the day was coming - had said so days before - But of course if had meant nothing to him at the time. Just more useless words babbled through a cell window with no meaning. His expected court appearance was soon to arrive... Right, useless words.

But then the door opened and in stepped Dr. Schue.

"Maybe this will help you reconsider." That was all Schuester had said as Kurt felt the coolness of the paper against the skin of his arm and noted the sound of his cell door clicking shut.

He vaguely plucked up the envelope.

True he'd been inside this room for an extensive amount of time. Obviously it had been too long judging by what he thought he was staring at, which certainly had to be an illusion, some sort of crazed madness being forced into his conscious mind due to overwhelming grief.

The name scrawled across the top left corner stared back at him in an almost mocking way - _Inmate 34786990, Noah Puckerman. _

It took him another hour before he finally managed to gather enough - well, whatever it took to actually open the damn thing.

The words - There they were. In a messy, teenaged boy's penmanship easily discernable as one Noah Puckerman's. Noah's words were pressed all over the page, slanted and perfect... And just there.

Kurt nearly burst into tears again; tears he thought had long since dried out and were no longer capable of forming. His breath hitched in his throat as he started to read.

_Dear Kurt,_

_I got your letter. I swear I read it over thirty times at least. I was thinking of you. Well, I'm always thinking of you. But this time, it wasn't just you I thought of. It was us. What it could be like with you and I (and yes I put 'you and I' instead of 'me and you' so I could impress you)._

_I think you know me enough by now to know that I'm a person who lives in the moment. I never think ahead or try to imagine what could be in store for future. But here I am, thinking of what it would be like to live with you, to sleep in the same bed, maybe have an actual 9 to 5, like being a mechanic or something equally crappy (but awesome if it meant I could help take care of you). Maybe we'd live in a little apartment, some studio in a nice neighborhood where you could gay it up with your decorative charm which I've come to appreciate. Maybe you'd finally go to design school like you once told me you wanted and make a living making things beautiful for other people. Yeah, I could totally see it. And I'm not terrified of what I see._

_I know right now it's uncertain what may happen. I know that this shit is probably going to trial and I'm likely looking at some real time. I also don't try to kid myself about where I am and who I'm around._

Kurt chokes back a sob as his eyes slide over that particular sentence.

_Don't think that I haven't considered the possibility that we may part ways. Hell you might just get bored with waiting and probably find someone else who really deserves you._

Kurt feels a rush of anger at Noah's words, but he continues reading, forcing himself to go on.

_But I just wanted to say that no matter what happens, you gave me something that I only ever dreamed of having, that I never thought I would experience or was worthy of before. No matter what happens Kurt, just know that I really loved you, and for me, it was all worth it. I just pray (and I ain't never been religious, just like I know you aren't either, but just go with it - just this once), that you feel that too. Let it be worth it for yourself._

_Thank you for loving me. Thank you for seeing me. Thank you for showing me what it really means to be happy._

_Be strong, be courageous, please just be the you - the beautiful man - that I fell in love with, Kurt. Life'll be a breeze if you always hold onto that. Because you are every bit of perfect. As long as you know that in your heart, no one can ever take that away. _

_Yours (and secretly claiming you as his boyfriend even though I never officially asked),_

_Noah Anthony Puckerman_

It was on day nineteen that he had read the letter, broke down, re-read it, cried harder, read it again, and again, and cried for what felt like days.

But somehow, he felt himself begin to fill up with something else outside of despair. Those words... Those turned out to be the exact words he needed to come across. The words that symbolized a the goodbye he had never gotten face to face.

Perhaps Noah knew. Maybe he felt the ominous presence of something chasing after him; knew that perhaps the clutches of death itself were scraping against the back of his neck with a longing as deep as Pucks' desire to hold Kurt.

Whatever the reason, one Noah Puckerman had given Kurt his final gift: a goodbye.

So in the middle of day twenty, Kurt - for the first time besides being coaxed out long enough to take showers on occasion - was walking out of the quiet room and re-engaging in his normal routine. He didn't take on his normal disposition, wasn't talking or actively participating in the activities such as group or Crafts, but he was still there. He was still present, at least in body.

Slowly he was regaining a little of himself. Piece by piece, until the day came when he was to appear in court regarding Gavin's assault and molestation charges.

When he made his way into the courtroom he was unsurprised to see Dr. Schuester and Jerry, both dressed sharply and sitting on the side of the Prosecution. He was however very surprised when he registered the faces of a familiar young blonde and a short brunette sitting side by side near the Doctor... Quinn: the blonde who had made it her mission to lay claim to Puck like some over-used sex toy, and that Irish kid who had always found his way on the basketball court with Puck despite the numerous slurs about his height disadvantage.

Why did it feel like he was being led to the gallows?

He swallows, sweeping over the courtroom with a searching gaze, trying to not to become too overwhelmed when his blue eyes trace over dark pools spilling over with an intense agitation.

Gavin shoots him his usual sneer, subtle, but noticable for those who had grown accustomed to it. Kurt takes a seat and is sworn in, his hand feeling inexplicably warm as it settles on the bible and he recites the customary oath.

"Mr. Hummel," begins a short, balding man with thick glasses Kurt presumes to be Gavin's attorney. "Can you please point out Mr. Gavin Halsted to the jury."

Kurt raises his finger and points directly at the sneering face, trying to keep himself from shaking.

"Thank you Mr. Hummel. Now please explain to the court how you know Mr. Halsted."

Kurt clears his throat before stuttering out, "H-he works at Vista Point. He's an orderly there."

"I'm sorry. Vista Point?"

"Yes. It's a mental health facility."

"Don't you mean it's a residential mental health institution for seriously disturbed teenagers?"

Kurt nods slowly, trying to resist the bile he felt churning in his stomach.

"I'm sorry Mr. Hummel, is that a 'yes'?"

"Y-yes," He manages to state.

"And you're a patient there correct?"

"Yes."

"Is it safe to say that you're a mentally ill individual?"

"I - I don't... What?"

"Do you need me to repeat the question Mr. Hummel?"

Kurt's anxiety is mounting. He knew this was going to be difficult but now suddenly it was feeling impossible. He was having a hard time maintaining eye contact with the bespectacled man - this attorney - a fucking attorney: just like Steven...

The room is beginning to spin slightly. He registers Dr. Schuester immediately stand and Jerry also react. The court room is beginning to fill with the low rumblings of carried murmurs and whispers. Kurt can't do this. He isn't ready to talk about this with a room full of strangers. He isn't ready to face this strange man who was slowly manifesting into a representation of everything he had ever feared - Oh God what had he been thinking coming here?

He ducks forward, holding the inner rail of the witness stand as he gulps for air. Then he sees it plain as day, dangling off his delicate wrist with twinkle in the flourescent lighting of the court room. A familiar purple, blue, and silver sitting prettily against his pale skin, the word _Lady _spelled out evenly across the beads.

His face swims in his mind's eye; brown eyes surging with laughter and happiness, his grin spread widely across his face. Noah was staring at him, saying nothing, but everything at the same time.

Kurt smiles at the image, this imaginary figure that was his everything, and takes a deep breath before righting himself on the stand.

That's why he could this. Those shitty dollar store beads was why he knew he had to.

"Mr. Hummel would you care for a short recess in order to collect yourself?"

He shook his head at the Judge's inquiry. "No. I'm fine. Just felt a little dizzy. But I'm okay now."

Jerry is pulling Dr. Schuester back into his seat. Quinn and that Rory boy still share a concerned look but stay seated in poised silence. The Judge nods his consent, an understanding furrow of his graying brow very present, and Gavin's attorney continues.

"Mr. Hummel. I'll ask again. Are you mentally ill?"

"I'm no Doctor or any sort of medical expert. But according to my paperwork and the pills they make me take I would say yes."

A spatter of laughter shoots through the room. Even Dr. Schuester smiles sheepishly, his gray eyes warm as he watches Kurt.

"Of course. I know that you're no trained professional. Just wanted your opinion on the matter. So may I ask what event led you to be a patient at Vista Point?"

Dr. Schuester looks stricken at the question but is obviously trying to somehow exude a sense of reassurance just through eye contact. Kurt swallows thickly and then breathes, "I tried to kill myself."

"Indeed. So it seems that you haven't always been the most stable?"

"I - I think that given the things I've experienced in my life, I just came to a point where that seemed like the only answer at the time. Whether it's deemed stable or not. Everyone has a breaking point."

Silence premeates the atmosphere.

"Hm. Interesting. So can I ask you of the nature of your relationship with a Mr. Noah Puckerman, the man accused of assaulting Mr. Halsted?"

Kurt's heart felt heavy but yet it seemed to speed up, beating incessently. He felt himself begin to shrink.

"Mr. Hummel?"

"H-he was my... Good friend."

"Just friends?"

"I loved him. Very much."

"Were you lovers?"

"Objection!" Shouted the Prosecuting attorney. "The exact nature of Mr. Hummel's relationship is not of consequence -"

"Your Honor it has everything to do with what happened. Mr. Puckerman was known to be a trouble maker, we've had several staff from Vista Point testify to that. If this boy was involved with him, what wouldn't he do to protect the boy he cleary was in a compromising relationship with?"

The Judge huffed, pulling off his thin rimmed glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Sustained. But please be wary Mr. Collier about your questioning."

"Thank you, your honor. Mr. Hummel the nature of your relationsh-"

"I loved him. With everything I possess. So if that made us lovers, then sure."

"You have come forward with these accusations against my client - according to your statements made and recorded on an earlier date - " And Mr. Collier pulled out a document and began to read from it in a dramatic fashion - "that Mr. Halsted quote 'made lewd, sexual remarks to you nearly daily for months.' Lets see, 'pinned you against a wall and felt you up, running his hand over your penis against your will until one Mr. Puckerman intervened.' Um, that, 'Mr. Halsted related confidential information to Mr. Puckerman regarding the death of his mother intentionally provoking him into an emotional outburst', that he assaulted Mr. Puckerman with a club and forced him to stand there while you were to perform oral sex while he watched, but this was interrupted by a Mr. Jerry Jackson, the lead orderly at Vista Point.' And finally that he 'told a Mr. Jacob Benjamin Israel some provoking and hurtful statements that prompted him to kill himself.' Is this all correct Mr. Hummel?"

Kurt hated the tone that he had used. It was condescending, as if the man didn't believe a word of it and was forced to read a list of lies that he nearly had to hiss in order to verbalize.

"Yes sir. Every word."

"And yet you admit here today, that you would do anything for this young man that you loved?"

"I never said that. But yes, I would."

"Even lie?"

"If I knew it was going to save him, then yes. But that's not going to happen is it Mr. Collier? Being that he's already dead."

Several surprised gasps errupt around the courtroom as well as some whispers.

"Order, order!" Calls the Judge pounding his gavel to reinstate the eerie calm that originally filled the atmosphere.

"Do you know how he died Mr. Collier?"

"Sorry?"

"How Noah died?"

"My understanding according to this" - again he gleens over another paper with a grimace - "he was stabbed to death due to his involvement in a gang altercation."

Kurt shakes his head, chuckling sadly. "No sir. He was murdered for trying to intervene; to help somebody else. Not much different then he did with me. Because in the end, that's who Noah was. He may have been a lot of things true, but he was never a liar, and when he cared... He would give up everything to show it."

"Is that what happened Mr. Hummel the day he attacked Mr. Halsted? Did he care too much perhaps? Your claim based on your previous statements is that Mr. Halsted committed haneous acts of manipulation, threatening, beating and even inappropriately touching underaged kids and apparently abused his power in every way; this man who has worked at that facility for over five years, who's noted by the staff as a hard worker and decent man, and has never had any formal complaints on his record" -

"He wouldn't if people were too scared to come forward!"

Mr. Collier halts, clearing his throat and then giving a wry smile. "The truth is all we have is your word Mr. Hummel. The word of an unstable, mentally ill young man who admits to being lovers with a deceased man, known to be a troubled person mind you, who one day snapped and happened to attack Mr. Halsted out of one of his normal fits of rage."

Kurt feels himself shaking with suppressed anger. His indignation is at its peek. He looks straight over at Gavin, and feels his frustration boiling over as he takes in that fucking stupid smirk stretched widely across his face.

"You were just another Steven, you know?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Hummel?"

"You -" He said pointing at Gavin - "Were just another version of my Step Father. You knew what I went through. That he r-raped me for years. But you liked that didn't you? You even told me you'd make me cum harder then he ever could!"

The courtroom is now filling again with audible gasps, whispering and side-conversation.

"W-what? Your Honor, I never asked a question" -

"Mr. Hummel, that'll be all if the defense is finished" -

"You know what you did and yet you have the nerve to sit here, smiling and lying to all these people. If there is a Hell Gavin, you'll be the first one in line you bastard!"

"That's quite enough! Bailiff, remove Mr. Hummel from the courtroom, we'll be taking a fifteen minute recess."

Kurt was being pulled along toward the entrance, but not before he caught the flash of uncertainty, maybe even fear displayed on Gavin's face. He had clearly been stricken enough for his tell tale smirk to disappear in its entirety.

* * *

**A/N:** Usually I don't leave an authors note immediately following a chapter but for this one I felt it was appropriate. I know you guys may be in a 'where the fuck did that come from' state of mind regarding Puck's death. At first I did toy with the idea of giving our two boys a happily ever after but it just didn't feel right. In order for this thing to come full circle Puck had to make an exit. And you know what they say "A lady always knows when to leave," um... cept he's a dude. But it's true, I think Puck found his purpose, experienced it fully, and was able to leave before he or that pure feeling he finally felt for the first time became tarnished. Hopefully this makes some sort of sense... Don't hate me too much. Besides, Kurt still needs you guys! Don't give up on him!


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N:** Okay... Whoa... I'm a little taken back by the upset that Puck's death caused. I figured some people would be a little upset but apparently it rattled some people to the point of them discontinuing the story. I'm sad to hear that but I don't take back my choice. I was given advice by a reviewer that I didn't give enough warning about the potentially triggering occurences in the last chap or some others. My intent on not putting up _specific_ warnings was to avoid spoiling the story but I do apologize to anyone who was in any way offended or felt particularly triggered, sickened, disgusted, etc, etc, by the content. From now on, warnings will be strategically placed if and when needed. My hope is that for those of you who stick around, you'll indeed find some happiness with the story despite the loss of Puck.

_Perhaps if I explain myself a bit further it may sting a bit less, least I hope so:_

My heart is sad for Puck of course but I wanted to explore the idea of what the loss of Puck (since he got his chance to become a better/changed person) would do for Kurt in terms of character development and a potential positive transformation. Like I said, Puck got his 'transformation' before he died and that's why I was cool with letting him go which felt like the best thing for the story overall. More meaningful then a simple 'everything works out and is tied up in a neat little bow' kind of story. Don't get me wrong, I love those types of endings too, just didn't feel right this time around. The end is near. I really sincerely hope you guys will finish this journey with me. It's been a blast and I love all you guys for giving me your thoughts and support, even if you disagree with some of my choices which is completely ok to do. Reviews, questions, comments are still and always will be welcome. To **psykogleek**, this chap will reveal more of why Quinn chose to not say anything... And damn this is a long ass author's note, lol.

**Warnings:** Mentions of sexual abuse, physical assault, and suicide. Be warned my friends... not deterred. :)

* * *

"Here kid."

Jerry hands him a styrofoam cup filled with something, then sits next to him on the bench.

"Thanks."

"You okay?"

Kurt exhales, then takes a careful sip. Water, he notes to himself. "I dunno."

"You did good in there."

"I guess I was lucky they didn't arrest me."

"Maybe. But either way, I know how hard that was for you to do. But you did it."

"Yeah but it wasn't good enough. That lawyer was right. To them I'm some crazy nut job with a vendetta. They won't convict him."

"It ain't over till the fat lady sings they say, Kurt. Sure there were a couple in the audience but I ain't heard not one of them utter even a note yet."

Kurt smiles, then swallows a large gulp of the water.

"Did they already call you up to the stand?"

"Yes they did."

"And you had to tell them all about how perfect that dickhead was. Right?"

Jerry chuckles. "Dickhead. That's a new one for you. An old one for Puck though."

Kurt catches Jerry's eye, feeling his own sparkling with warmth waiting to spill over. Jerry claps him on the back.

"They asked me about my relationship with him and I told them."

Kurt snorts disbelievingly.

"I told them how I'd had my suspiscions about Gavin's conduct with the kids in that place for a long time. If anything I think I may have just jeapordized my job."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean that I felt it. I knew in my gut, something wasn't right. That day I saw you two in the hallway with him. That was just one of several occasions I've questioned over the years. But I never did anything. I should've investigated, complained, something. I never did anything Kurt."

"Well, you didn't know."

"The hell I didn't. I suspected. And that should've been enough."

"Yeah - But why would you lose your job over that? You're the one person in the whole place besides Dr. Schuester that actually helps us... That actually gives a damn" -

"Look kid. I hope that what I did today made up for what I didn't do before. Even just a little bit. That Mr. Collier was right though. I should've done something."

Kurt smiles up at Jerry, hoping to bring even an ounce of the encouragement and support that Jerry had always displaced onto him.

"Should'a, could'a would'a as one Miss Mercedes Jones would say. What's done is done. You can't live in the past right?"

Jerry grins and pats Kurt on the shoulder again. Kurt pulls him into a hug.

"Thank you," He breathes as the tears finally escape from his blue orbs.

* * *

Now it made sense why they were there.

When Rory had gotten on the stand, what he had to say made Kurt's throat catch. He had seen what had happened... Had witnessed the whole thing that day when Gavin had pushed Kurt against the wall and felt him up.

Noah had said he thought he glimpsed something move in the background, but that maybe it had just been a trick of the light.

Turns out that it was the little Irishman all along.

When Quinn was called up, it did more then surprise Kurt. It stirred various emotions within him to the point of making him feel faint.

It seemed that Gavin hadn't just taken an interest in Kurt.

She described several incidents in which he had cornered her, made sure to be the one who escorted her for things like her medication just to be able to get her alone...

"And then what happened Ms. Fabray?" posed the Prosecuting attorney.

"He - Uh - Told me that he knew how much of a whore I was, and that could I be a whore for him too."

"Did he leave you alone after that?"

"No. Things got worse for a while. One day he managed to get me alone on my way to our exercise class and he, h-he..."

She trailed off, her head ducked down as the sobs began to surface.

"Ms. Fabray?"

"I-I'm sorry." She took a deep breath and steadied herself. "He pulled me into a utility closet. Then he p-pulled my underwear down, and he, he put his fingers inside me."

The courtroom was dead silent with the exception of her sniffling. Gavin looked close to being sick.

"Was that the only time Ms. Fabray?"

She jerkily nodded, taking the tissue offered to her by the bailiff.

"Thank you. Yes. That was the only time he'd done t-that. He threatened to do more but then... He sort of started doing things like that less and less."

"Really?"

She nodded.

"Why do you think that was?"

"Cause... Because Kurt came."

"Excuse me?"

She grimaced, then looks directly at Kurt. "Because Kurt came to Vista Point. I saw it. The same signs were there. He made sure to be around when Kurt was... like his classes or in between group sessions. Then I noticed him whispering things to him, trying to catch him alone. I knew what it was, what it was leading up to, right then."

"So why didn't you say anything to anyone Ms. Fabray?"

Her lips quivered, her chin dimpling as the tears flowed anew.

"I-I was... I was just happy... t-that he wasn't - that it wasn't _me_ anymore."

The prosecuting attorney, Mr. Dilbeck, Kurt recalls, sighs, and then waits. Quinn wipes her nose with a tissue, then proceeds.

"And I... I was, I was so angry. I was angry with Kurt, because I knew that he had - I knew how Noah felt about him."

"Mr. Puckerman?"

She nods. "I was angry because - he never looked at me the way he looked at Kurt. I wanted him to but... I'm so so sorry Kurt," She mumbles. Kurt's eyes are leaking. He nods, the tears running with abandon.

"I wanted Kurt to hurt. I did. And I was wrong."

"Ms. Fabray, tell me about the day you had confronted Mr. Puckerman about his relationship with Mr. Hummel for the second time."

She took a moment to wipe away her tears and regain her composure. And as her voice echoes across the courtroom, Kurt pictures it... Sees the whole scene so vividly...

_"I knew you were with him."_

_Kurt felt himself shiver at the ice in her tone._

_"Is that why you could never fuck me Puckerman? Cause you wanted dick this whole time?"_

_Kurt looks over at Puck. Puck seems to only have eyes for the girl watching him from down the hall._

_"Quinn-"_

_"Maybe I just should've let you fuck me in the ass, huh? Maybe then you would've done it."_

_"Quinn stop-"_

_"God. This is hilarious actually. The biggest homophobe on the planet is in reality the biggest fag there is."_

_Kurt notices Puck wince at her words. Surprisingly, he doesn't react._

_"All I ever wanted was to be yours. Don't you get it. I just wanted to be yours," she says brokenly. Her eyes are fixated on the carpet now._

_"I-I-don't... Quinn. Look at me. Please."_

_Quinn was stricken by something... Maybe it was Noah actually saying the word 'please.'_

_He begins to walk forward as he spoke. Kurt reluctantly loosened his grip on the other boy's arm. Puck shoots him a quick smile which gives Kurt the strength to let him go completely._

_"I couldn't be what you needed. And I can never be what you need. What we had. It was just some half assed scheme so we wouldn't feel so lonely all the time. I can't have you. No one can, because you're too good - too awesome of a girl to be kept by anyone."_

_Quinn looks like she is near to losing it. Her green eyes are alight with tears. Kurt feels his own eyes becoming slightly damp._

_"What we were doing was just... It was comfortable. But I couldn't go all the way with you. Because of how broken both of us are Quinn. Because we were just usin' each other. It wouldn't have been right. In the end."_

_Kurt's wiping at his own eyes now. This feels like too much - Like maybe he's intruding._

_"What if I tell? I can tell you know? About you being with him."_

_Kurt thinks his heart may have stopped mid-pump when Puck's words flow into his ears._

_"You do that Quinn. Just don't forget the part about me loving him too. Okay?"_

_Quinn wants to say something. Kurt knows it. But she's struggling, the words just out of her reach._

_Noah reaches up and brushes a stray tear away from her cheek with the pad of his thumb._

_"Did you ever love me?" She croaks, her throat surpressing a lingering sob._

_Puck sadly shakes his head. "No. But I like you. A lot. When you're not being all fuckin' loony and stalkerish."_

_Then she's laughing through her tears, and Noah is hugging her to him. For some reason, Kurt doesn't feel any sense of jealousy at their embrace... Just pride in the boy standing before him with another girl in his arms._

_"Well khum-bay-fuckin'-yah. What interesting little scene did I just happen to stumble upon?"_

_Why did he always seem to just be around? Why couldn't he just leave him alone?_

_"I'd say it looks like you were getting ready for a threesome. That is if that one wasn't as queer as a three dollar bill."_

_"Leave him alone."_

_Gavin laughs darkly in response. Kurt knows that laugh well. He feels his spine tingle with apprehension. Gavin's club strikes Puck in his leg the same second that Kurt is just beginning to register that he's feeling fear._

_"Noah!"_

_"What the hell are you doing?" Quinn yells out. She ducks down by Noah's side._

_"Leave him and get going Fabray."_

_"N-no. I'm not-"_

_"Get lost or I'll put your ass in the quiet room for a couple of days. No where to hole up and spew up your din-din, I'm afraid when you're in there. Just you, in a padded cell, with all your little self hating voices doing monologues in your head until you can't take it anymore."_

_Kurt could see that she was scared. That his words were exactly what she needed to hear to instill the right amount of trepidation._

_"Leave her alone Ga- Ow- fuck!" He strikes Puck again and Kurt rushes forward. He stops when Gavin holds the club out toward him._

_"Now I don't want to bruise that pretty porcelain skin of yours Dorothy. So unless you want me to give you some natural eye make up, I would stay put. Move it Fabray!" Gavin shouted at her._

_Quinn is so unsure and worried. It's obvious in the way she takes very slow, measured steps. Puck tries to give her a look of reassurance, a nod to let her know that it would be okay, but his lips grind together in a thin line as his head falls forward, the pain seeming too much._

...

"And then I left."

Kurt tunes back in, the scene dissipating as the memory fades back into the recesses of his mind.

"I knew what Gavin was capable of and I was scared. I didn't want to be in the quiet room. Not alone. I can't handle that."

"When was the last time you'd seen Noah Puckerman?"

Quinn smiles. Somehow the gesture surpasses the tears staining her face.

"The day they'd arrested him. I saw him in passing. Both of us were on our way to different places - just going down the hall. I remember thinking to myself how unbelievably happy he looked. He smiled at me" - She chuckles wetly - "An actual smile."

"Do you know anything of what happened later on that day?"

"You mean about Jacob?"

"Yes. Mr. Jacob Ben Israel."

"I had heard that Jacob had killed himself - hung himself in his dorm room with some torn sheets I think. Puck - Noah, they say that he'd found him first and tried to save him... Said he'd tried to hold him up until Kurt had gotten help. They had to practically pry Noah away from the kid."

"Thank you Ms. Fabray. No more questions."

Then it was the Defenses turn.

Mr. Collier tried his best to discredit Quinn. Brought up old dirt about her past and her current habits as a patient at Vista Point; that she was often deemed cruel and calculating by her peers and was a known manipulator. Quinn took it all in stride ending with a simple statement: "I am what I am sir. But at least I can admit it."

As Quinn walks off the stand escorted by the bailiff, she catches Kurt's eye. They reach an understanding without words.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:** I'm no legal expert or by any means sure of the exact years of sentencing for Gavin's crimes but I just guesstimated and hoped for the best. Also there has been a time lapse between this chap and the last (I'd go with a few months, anywhere from 2 - 4, have gone by regarding the trial). So... this is it. The beginning of the end. I will follow up with an epilogue so please stay tuned. And as always, please review, comment, say whatever you feel. Your words have been unbelievable, kind, and for me really inspiring. Thank you with my whole heart.

* * *

Jerry approached him, his tie unknotted and his once crisp white shirt untucked. He looked disheveled but content. Kurt wasn't sure if it was good news, or if he was simply being Jerry: the nice man who knew when to put a smile on his face for others sakes.

He plopped down next to Kurt on the piano bench. No one else was scheduled to come into the Arts room for another few hours. Kurt had learned the daily schedule in order to squeeze in some alone time within the space whenever he could manage it. Kurt was subconsciously tugging at his bracelet, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He remained silent, waiting...

"Four years, no probation. And he'll be doing the full four. None of that time served crap. The full sentence for the counts of sexual abuse was three. They tacked on an extra year for the assault against Puckerman."

Kurt closes his eyes, squeezing the bracelet between his fingertips; a smile ghosting his full lips.

"He won't ever be able to work with children or adolsecents in his natural born life, and he'll officially be a registered sex offender if he gets out."

Kurt exhales a breath it felt like he'd been holding for hours. He opens his eyes then.

"_If_..?"

"Last I heard a lot of dude's in jail don't take too kindly to sex offenders. Not when it comes to kids anyway."

Kurt nods in understanding. His heart somehow feeling so much lighter.

"What about you Jerry?"

"What about me kid?"

"I mean, what are you going to do?"

Jerry huffs, then laces his fingers together before responding.

"Well, Dr. Schuester asked me if I wanted to stay on."

"That's really great Jerry -"

"But... I turned him down."

"What? Why?"

Jerry grins, running his hand over his bald head and resting it on the back of his neck.

"I suppose I feel like it's time for a change. I've been doing this for a lot of years kid. It's just time for a change."

Kurt feels the heaviness begin to return. He hadn't realized it until this moment, but Jerry had unknowingly become the father figure he'd never really had.

"So w-when are you leaving?"

Jerry pats him on the shoulder, the way he always seemed to do as a means to help others stay grounded.

"Today. It's my last day today."

Kurt wants to protest, to beg and plead for him not to go. He feels like one of the most important people in his life is slipping away. Leaving him alone here to rot. Mercedes had left months before, and Tina only a few days ago. Slowly but surely the number of people making up his support system was dwindling.

"I don't know... I don't know if I can do this without you."

Jerry smiles gently, his brown eyes shining.

"Boy please. All the shit you've been through so far. And you're worried about gettin' through it without _me_ bein' there? Hell, I wasn't there any of the other times and you got through it alright. And I wasn't gonna be there forever. You know that."

Kurt is crying silently, trying to will himself to stop but his damn eyes keep defying him.

"All I know is that you're one of the strongest people I ever got the privilege to meet Kurt. And it was you that helped me realize that its never too late to find your happiness; that sometimes a change doesn't have to be a bad thing. I mean you really turned this place around in a lot of ways. You helped more folks then you know, including the one that everyone truly thought couldn't be reached."

Jerry pauses, digs in his coat pocket and pulls something out to present to Kurt.

"Here. I noticed that you have that bracelet. But it never hurts to have a back up."

Kurt stares in wonder at the locket. It looks to be white gold, untarnished and shiny in the flourescent light. Kurt carefully opens the door of the jewelry piece.

"One of the Rehab Coordinators who watches the Crafts class snapped it when you guys weren't paying attention. I was able to bribe it off her though, then shrunk it so it'd fit just right."

It was a small photo of him and...

"Noah," he breathes as he traces his fingertip over the boys smile. They were laughing, Kurt ducking his head against Noah's shoulder while Noah smiled down at him.

Kurt knew then that what Jerry said was true. That he could be strong... And that maybe in time, he would be alright. He knew this because his heart had swollen at the sight of the photo, but not with grief, nor overwhelming hurt as expected... But love.

Love was what he'd had with Noah. The best love he had ever known. He felt a twinge of happiness, a nostalgic feeling of content and assured passion coursing through him as he quietly closed the locket, then pulled it around his neck. Jerry hastened to clasp it for him, which Kurt allowed with a bittersweet grin.

"There," Jerry announced once the clasp had been fastened.

Kurt stood up, wiping his eyes and nose with the back of his hand. Then he put his hand out for Jerry to take. Jerry chuckled, then pulled Kurt forward into a crushing hug.

"You take care of yourself now son. Ya here me?"

Kurt nods against his chest, and eventually pulls away. "Thank you. Thank you for everything."

"Till next we meet Mr. Hummel," Jerry says warmly, then disappeared out the door.

Kurt stared at the closed door for a moment, then re-opened the locket in order to get lost in the happy memory waiting for him behind the glass window.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: **We made it peeps. The conclusion of this rollercoaster of a fic. I truly hope that despite the tragedy that was compiled throughout the story, you may have gotten something more from reading it besides just being a bit miffed about the character loss. For me, I guess I was hoping that for anyone who has ever had to deal with the pain of losing someone (ahem, in this story for example, our Puck) getting to know them, learning to love them and then all of the sudden they're gone... And then having to learn to move on, live, find yourself again, and hopefully experience some sort of love that's even remotely similar... having Kurt go through it for us, would maybe show that it's possible to have life after that kind of loss. That sometimes that sort of loss can break you, but also breathe something else into you that with time, can be better, make you more capable and compassionate. I know for me, the reality of losing someone made me need to get this out, and tell it the way I chose to tell it. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your words as always. Oh and by the way... I gots one more chapter. I call it **Epilogue: Part 2**, then we will officially part ways my dears, at least as far as this story's concerned.

**Warnings:** Character death, mention of murder (hanging).

* * *

**Epilogue**

He should've flown. He knew that driving was gonna be a bitch. Especially with his air conditioner acting up constantly, and he swears that his gears are sticking; how is that even plausible with a damn automatic shift?

He exhales, trying to calm his nerves. His mind drifting back to the phone call that brought him on this journey in the first place...

_"Kurt Hummel of Hummel's Design Incorporated. How may I help you?"_

_"Um, Hi, Mr. Hummel?"_

_"Speaking."_

_"Oh, hello. My name is Reginald Johnson. Er, Reggie."_

_"Hello Reggie. Are you calling because you're interested in placing an order?"_

_"No. Actually I was calling on behalf of my Father."_

_"Sorry? Your father?"_

_"Yes. My Dad. His name was Jerald Johnson. But most everyone knew him by-"_

_"Jerry?"_

_"Yeah. He used to work up at the Vista Point Institution in Ohio for a while. More then seventeen years actually. But then we moved out to California. Stayed with some family for a bit till he got his eletronics shop up and running."_

_"Wow. That's really great. How's he doing? Would I be able to talk to him?"_

_..._

_"Um, Mr. Hummel, my Dad - he just passed away. Happened a few days ago."_

_..._

_"Mr. Hummel?"_

_"Y-yes. I'm sorry. I just - I can't believe it."_

_"I'm sorry to call you out of the blue like this. We all knew it was comin' at some point. Known for a while truthfully. He was diagnosed with prostate cancer last year. Doc said he'd only have about three months at most. But he beat that. Stubborn bastard made it just shy of a year."_

_"I-I'm so very sorry to hear that he... He was a good man."_

_"Thank you. He was."_

_"Mr. Johnson? I don't mean to be rude or sound ungrateful in anyway, but I'm a bit surprised to be receiving your call. I just - I haven't spoken to Jerry in over, God, more then eleven years now. I mean we've written a few post cards here and there but other then that we haven't stayed in close contact. I didn't think that I would be someone who would be notified I suppose."_

_"Please feel free to call me Reggie. And um, my Dad was really adamant about me contacting you upon his death. Said it'd be important for you two to get your final goodbyes."_

_"Oh. Okay, then."_

_"Mr. Hummel -"_

_"Kurt."_

_"Right. Of course. Kurt, my Dad he was... He was very fond of you. Anytime he'd talk about his days at Vista Point he'd bring you up. Well, you and some fellow named Puckerman, I believe."_

_..._

_"Kurt? Mr. Hummel?"_

_"That was a long time ago."_

_"It was. I was about ten at the time myself. But I remember the stories. I guess it's pretty strange to say, but sometimes, you felt like the family I'd never met."_

_..._

_"Kurt?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Do you think you could join us for the funeral? It's set for this Saturday. I can get you the address to the Church we're having it at. The reception'll be held at my parents - I mean my Mom's place right afterward."_

_"Yes. Thank you. I'll be there."_

_"Great. That's great. Thank you. And I'm looking forward to having you there."_

_"Thank you."_

So here he was. Making the cross country road trip to California to see his... Well, to say goodbye to a friend. Yeah... Jerry Johnson had been his friend and confidant during one of the worst times (and that's saying something) in his life.

He still couldn't believe that he was gone. That he'd never get the chance to tell him how much his presence had meant to him during that time. Kurt had always fantasized about reuniting with him, telling the man about how he had in fact stayed strong: that his journey of re-birth had began with Jerry's departure from that damn asylum. He wanted to tell him how he had fought and struggled to be officially emancipated from his Mother, which he had succeeded at before his seventeenth birthday. That he had went to school and made a life for himself... That he owned his own little boutique that was growing by the day - what - with his web page and his online designs and shipping, he was slowly but surely making a bit of a name for himself... That he had dated and loved and hurt and grew and matured... That he'd become a man to hopefully be proud of.

He had wanted to tell him all of that one day.

He hadn't realized how significant the thought of that had been for him; the desire to one day share his successes with Jerry. Now all he could do was wish...

The church was quaint but completely packed to the rafters with people. It wasn't surprising to Kurt. Jerry had been an enigmatic, charming, and loving man. Apparently he had touched many lives.

As the service was ending, Kurt caught sight of a familiar figure standing over the headstone, stooping to place a single rose at the foot of the stone with the rest of the flower arrangements.

"D-doctor Schuester?"

The man turned around to face him, his gray eyes slightly red from crying. His hair line was thinning a a bit, and the sides of his hair were frosted. He had more worry lines on his forehead then Kurt could remember, but he still looked quite handsome for his age.

"Kurt Hummel?"

Kurt nods and steps forward. He hesitates, unsure if it's inappropriate to greet his old Psychologist and mentor with a hug. He's pretty sure that there's some sort of protocol about fraternizing with past patients. Dr. Schuester immediately notices his hesitation, and spares him the decision as he envelopes him in a firm hug.

"It's been a long time Kurt. I won't tell if you don't."

Kurt chuckles, his voice sounding gravelly with the crying he'd been doing before. They separate, drinking each other in.

"I um - Wow, you look good. For an old man of course."

"And you look quite the picture of health."

"Is that a joke Dr. Schue?"

"A little one I suppose. But you do look... You look grown up... Happy."

Kurt gets the impression that there's a question hanging off of the last word.

"I have been. Lately anyway."

"That's good Kurt. And you can call me Will. You aren't my patient anymore."

"No, I'm not. I'm just another average guy _not_ locked in a mental institution."

Dr. Schuester smiles sadly, then asks, "So I take it you stayed in touch with Jerry then?"

"Not really. A few letters, some post cards. But I haven't seen him since he left Vista Point. Are you still there?"

"No. Actually I started a private practice a few years back. I think it seems to be taking less years off my life so I'm happy about that. Vista Point was a great place and I gained a lot from there. But I like the individual work, and the lack of bueracracy and politics. There's just something to be said about owning your own place, you know?"

"I do actually."

"Really? Do tell."

"Well, I went to school for fashion and design and opened up my own boutique. It isn't much but it's mine. I've just launched my web page which is really starting to take off and I'm working on creating a jewelry line in the spring."

"Wow. That's really amazing Kurt. Truly. I'm proud to hear that."

"Thanks Schue."

Dr. Schuester laughs. "I'll take it. Least you dropped the damn doctor part."

They both spout collective laughter at this admission, genuinely enjoying each others company despite the sorrow billowing underneath the unsaid words between them.

* * *

"Thanks again for making it Kurt. My Dad would've been happy knowin' you came."

Kurt smiles at Reggie, who's nearly the spitting image of his Father, with the exception of his thick hair and short stature.

"It's my pleasure. I'm glad I could be here."

"Please, feel free to get something to eat man. We got all kinds of food in the dining area."

"Sure. Thanks. Er - Reggie?"

"Yeah?"

"Where's your restroom?"

"There's one down the hall but I think it may be occupied at the moment. If you want there's one upstairs. First door on the left."

"Thank you."

Reggie smiles grimly and returns to greet the other family members who were just arriving back from the funeral.

Kurt silently slips upstairs and makes his way toward his destination. He notes the family photos lining the wall as he climbs. It seemed that Reggie was an only child based on a few family photos displayed. Kurt felt a pang of jealousy at the thought of the likely happy and supportive upbringing Reggie had endured with a man like Jerry as his Dad.

He found the bathroom and was just about to enter when another door across the hall to the right caused him to pause. His gaze darted back down the hall. Eventually his natural inquisitiveness got the best of him and he carefully pushed the door open, leaving it slightly ajar behind him as he observed the space.

It looked to be an office. There were papers stacked on an old, yet sturdy looking computer desk: old magazines, tax documents, other miscellaneous paperwork having to do with Jerry's business it appeared. Against the wall was a narrow but full book case. Titles running from African American literature to Greek mythology crushed together on each shelf. There was no computer present, but instead an old type writer with blank paper still hanging out of it. Kurt absentmindedly brushes his fingers across the blank page as he took in the space that was so obviously Jerry's. A saxophone stood in the corner, dusty but proud looking. On the walls were various photos. A few were of a young Jerry, playing his saxophone on a stage with a band. Others were of Reggie as a kid, he and his wife, probably grandchildren and other family members.

But then he saw it...

His blue eyes widen in shock, his heart hammering forcefully at the sight.

A face that was forever burned in his memory, hell in his very soul, laughing with abandon. His dark mohawk tosseled and thick, a little stubble scratching the surface of his chin as his brown eyes swirl with a brightness long since lost.

His hand automatically flies to the locket around his neck. The one he had never taken off for over a decade.

He reaches out and pulls the framed photo down. It was so familiar to him as he had spent so many years having his own version around his neck. But at the same time, seeing it like this, a large copy, bordered by a frame... It was almost alien to him, like he was truly seeing it for the first time.

His eyes pool with tears as he stares down at the boy who had changed his life, as well as the young man that he once was: the broken entity who was just learning to put the pieces back together.

"See you found my Uncle's office."

Kurt starts at the voice, nearly dropping the picture in surprise.

"I-I'm so sorry. I shouldn't be in here. I'll go."

The man raises his hand for Kurt to halt. He then walks over and gently plucks the photo from Kurt's grip, looking at it with a sad smile.

"Out of all the pictures my Uncle kept in here, this one - this one fascinated me the most."

Kurt says nothing as the man bites his lip, still staring nostalgically at the picture of him and Noah.

"Not just the fact that this was the only photo with any white people in it."

Kurt chuckles wetly, his cheeks slowly burning with rising embarrassment at his tears.

"It was how the two boys looked. There was something about it that was beyond friendship. Something so intimate it seemed hard to place."

The man turned to look at Kurt then. His skin was akin to caramel, a soft brown that nearly matched his eyes. He was reminded of Noah, the way they sparkled with something just out of reach. He was tall but solid, his three piece suit tailored perfectly to his build.

"I asked my Uncle once if they were in love. And he said, 'DJ' - that's me - 'what those boys had was a love for the ages. They completed each others souls.' It was the way he said it. Like it was so natural."

Kurt was sincerely struggling to keep the tears at bay. His eyes searching the photo again, wondering if he could see what Jerry had.

"I came out a few years later, when I was a junior in high school. I guess in a weird way, it was this damn photo that gave me the courage I needed to finally do it."

Kurt eye's wavered between the photo and the man, apparently Jerry's nephew. He was handsome, an easy grace about him, how he spoke, the smooth gestures of his hands. Kurt noticed that his smile, though kind of boyish and timid at the moment, still managed to be striking. Kurt shook his head and managed to un-glue his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

"DJ? What's that stand for?"

DJ laughed aloud as if this was the silliest question he'd ever heard. Kurt was a bit baffled by the reaction.

"I'm sorry. It's just - I usually have to get my laughs out before I share this with people since I already know that they're gonna laugh their ass off. Might as well beat em' to it. DJ is short for Dartagnon, Jerald Phillips. Hence, DJ."

Kurt couldn't help but smile a little, but he spared the man by witholding the chuckle tickling his throat.

"Dartagnon, huh? As in the three musketeers?"

"My Mom was obsessed. Had this weird belief in the power of three's. Unfortunately I was the first born so she got over that shit when my sister came along. You know you wanna laugh."

True enough, Kurt is practically bubbling over with supressed laughter. "I do. But I don't want to be rude. I just met you. I think it's unfair to laugh at someone's expense without at least introducing yourself first. I'm -"

"Kurt. Hummel, right?"

Kurt put out his hand which DJ gripped firmly. "Something about that is sort of scary. Like you all know everything about me. I have a feeling not even my social security number is safe."

"I know your face... Really well. I've known it for years. I've looked at it nearly everday for a decade. But I was always a little sad thinking that I'd probably never meet the man behind those blue eyes. Now... Here you are. It's kinda surreal."

Kurt took the photo from DJ's hand and replaced it on the wall, standing back to observe it again.

"Those eyes - in that picture - that was the first time that they had something in them. Something that wasn't void, or full of pain, or just utterly lost."

"Love?"

Kurt nods. "And spirit, I suppose. Your Uncle seemed to get it way before I ever did."

DJ scoots closer, now shoulder to shoulder with Kurt as they observe the picture together, admiring it as if it was the latest piece in a local art exhibit.

"Did your Uncle explain who I was to you? How he knew me?"

DJ has a wry smile on his face as he nods.

"I was - I was a terribly depressed and devastated person back then. Before that photo - before that moment - My eyes reflected that. Then I met him" - Kurt points up at Noah's beaming face - "And it all... changed."

DJ appears to be chewing the inside of his cheek in anticipation, then he stutters out, "M-my Uncle. He told me something really sad once. When I was younger, I used to think that those boys got to grow old, be together. I used to try to imagine what their lives had become. Then one day he told me that one had died. 'Noah' he said. I remember asking why but he'd never told me the story. Just that some of the brightest lights tend to burn out the fastest. But I couldn't help but wonder, what became of the boy with the blue eyes who'd be living alone."

Kurt braced himself, scared that he would collapse under the weight of the memories. He hadn't spoken to anyone about Noah in years.

"There was a man who used to work with your Uncle. He did horrible things to the kids at the hospital. I was one of them. Noah, he, um - tried to protect me. Stand up for me and some of the others which led to him hurting the guy. Noah already had a bad reputation and was on his last strike. So when he turned eighteen, he was sent to the State Pen. He - er - he, didn't make it out."

"What happened to the guy?" DJ asked quietly.

Kurt felt a devious smile tug at the corner of his lips. "The things he'd done: molesting and assaulting patients, he ended up going to jail for it. Last I heard they didn't take too kindly to sex offenders. Not when it comes to kids anyway." Kurt chuckles softly at his own words, remembering who had originally said them so many years before.

"Supposedly they found him hanging from the second story rail looking a little less then pristine."

"Damn. Karma's a bitch they say."

"I guess she can be."

"I'm sorry to pry. But the kid in me that was always wondering I guess needs to know. What was he like?" DJ said nodding his head up at Noah.

Kurt's watery smile spreads that much further. "He was... He was an asshole actually. When we first met and a while after that," Kurt said laughing at the memories of Puck's cursory behavior toward him.

"He was abrasive, childish, angry, and he liked to provoke people any way he could; usually with his words. But there was a moment. A moment I knew that there was just - something more there. That he could be sweet, and caring, and so very selfless when he wanted to be. Little by little, those moments became more frequent, so much so, that I couldn't deny that I loved him anymore."

It was then that DJ turned back toward Kurt and stuck his hand out.

"I am... Very happy to meet you Kurt."

Kurt took the offered hand, noting the roughness of his palm as he shook it for the second time.

"You too Dartagnon."

DJ snorts and gives Kurt a playful bump with his shoulder. "Really? Gonna go ahead and use the embarrassing, completely un-couth, government name, huh?"

Kurt giggles and feels the heat rise in his cheeks.

"I sort of have a nasty habit of calling people by their full first names. Just a fun fact about me."

"I suppose I can tolerate it. If you'll let me take you out for a coffee, or a latte, or whatever it is white boys like to drink."

"You know, I would really like that."

"Good. I kinda feel like I owe you anyway."

Kurt shoots him a curious look.

"For helping me come out and all." DJ quips. He then ducks his head, chewing the inside of his cheek again, a habit Kurt notes must occur when he's feeling nervous or self conscious. Kurt finds it rather endearing.

"Truth be told. You were kind of my first boy crush. So I definitely think that some sort of beverage is in order for that alone."

Kurt's face feels hot. Damn his pale skin. "You never even knew me," he mumbles.

"No. Not in the traditional sense. But I know your face. I know your smile. I knew that it was special... It just - It always felt like I knew exactly who you were somehow."

Kurt brings himself to look at DJ, his gaze unwavering.

"I know you're a beautiful person - have to be - because the other boy always looked so complete in the photo, like nothing else seemed to matter but you. And hell I got eyes... the kid's got good taste."

Kurt is speechless. He opens his mouth to respond but then snaps it shut again. DJ is back to chewing the inside of his cheek, looking a bit sheepish at his words.

"I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said all that. I was out of -"

Kurt places his finger over DJ's full lips, successfully cutting him off. He smiles up at him, blue eyes brimming with moisture.

"For the record, white boys are definitely into latte's. But I'll settle for a coffee."

DJ's grin is broad as Kurt slips his finger away. "Happy to oblige Mr. Hummel."


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: **So this is finally the last hoorah! This story has seriously been one extremely interesting, profound, draining, and lovely experience. I truly hope it was a good read, and despite some upset, left you feeling more of the sweet than the bitter. This was really my first true, head first dive into posting some work except for an anime story I'd written a long while back. And though my inexperience regarding posting warnings (again, my bad, I thought I was being thoughtful for not being "spoilery"... that sort of back fired though, lol) deterred a few folks from finishing not to mention, _Duh, Duh, Duh... PUCK DYING! _I'm so happy and grateful for those who didn't give up on our other boy, a one Kurt Hummel, who really needed us more. I think I'd like to keep writing and posting and I'd be honored for any who think they'd like to read any future fics I decide to post. I'm open for story suggestions. And as always, just for old times sake, please review, comment, whatever floats your boat... besides heckling and complaining of course, lol. I can dig a truly thoughtful critique (which some folks gracefully delivered and I thank you), I can't dig ranting complaints with no helpful purpose. I'm here, like a lot of us, to become a better writer and I'm still learning so keep that in mind... Just sayin'... Special thanks to all of you guys (you know who you are) for supporting my work and ultimately me. It means a whole lot. Till next we meet...

* * *

**Epilogue: Part 2 (The Final Chapter)**

When they go for coffee the next day, DJ picking Kurt up from his hotel that he had booked to avoid driving the lengthy distance home on little sleep, Kurt is accosted by a weird sense of Deja vu.

He thought he knew what DJ may have been talking about. Kurt can't put it into words, but it was like they were meant to connect with each other by some other force. Like there was some invisible tether that had been weaving an intricate pathway for them to saunter across until they were standing just a hair's breath away. It was crazy, he knew.

But the best kind of love, at least in his experience, had been the craziest kind. The kind that seemed impossible, that made no logical sense, that felt uncontrolled and uncertain. The kind of love that was perfectly imperfect.

That was what he'd known with Noah. He thinks that he's finally ready to know that feeling - or as close as he can come - to that feeling again, with this unfamiliar, yet strangely very familiar figure.

So in the realest sense of having no sense at all, a cup of coffee had led to an exchange of contact information, which led to nearly daily phone calls, and sporadic e-mails gushing about everything and nothing all at the same time...

Which led to weekend visits at least once a month (each man taking turns to commute when they could find time to get away from work; DJ was an interning law student after all, while Kurt was often overwhelmed with his business affairs)...

Which led to making love in the parking lot of a theatre on one of their impromptu visits, to skyping every night with a promise of soft caresses and on some nights after a glass of wine or two, desired confessions of hard, unrelenting, and blissful fucking on their next meeting, which more often then not came true...

Which led to them giving honest, sloppy, hopeful declarations about their feelings, and aspirations...

Which led to the words 'I love you' being uttered, un-provoked or prompted, just a natural exclamation so easy that it felt like taking in air...

Which eventually culminated into DJ moving to Ohio after a year of their cat and mouse madness.

Six years later, they take a journey to the place that it had essentially all started. The place that the tether was originally born from.

"How much more Daddy?"

Kurt smiles down at the curly haired boy, his hazel eyes bright, the blonde curls falling into his face. Kurt absolutely loved how they bounced up and down with each bobbled step. The child's light skin, a beautiful reddish-gold tint that clearly modeled his bi-racial ethnicity, was currently flushed with the haze of heat surrounding them as they marched forward.

"Not much further baby," he announces as he holds firmly to the little hand.

"That's what you said five minutes ago."

"Quit complaining squirt. Or else I might not do this-" And DJ scoops up the young boy who squeals in delight as he's placed on his Papa's shoulders for what the his son deems a long overdue piggy-back ride.

"And by the way, that hair needs to get cut."

"Papa, I don't wanna -"

"I love his hair the way it is. It's adorable."

DJ grins and reaches up to roughly tossle the blonde mop of curls, causing more giggles to erupt.

"Yeah but it's gettin' shaggy babe."

Kurt sighs. He really loved his son's curly mane. "I suppose he could get a trim-"

"A cut-"

"A trim. Or maybe - fine - a cut. But only if he wants it."

"Fair enough. Harper. What d'ya think?"

The five year old shakes his head. "Uh, uh."

"For an ice cream," DJ tries.

The blonde head couldn't have nodded faster. Kurt is nervous he may have gotten whip lash from the speed of his movements.

"Totally diabolical, sneaky, and depraved. Just what I would've done," Kurt mock pouts, then happily accepts the chaste kiss from his husband.

Finally, after more then half an hour of searching, Kurt stops suddenly.

"It's here. Right here," he calls out. He reaches down and runs his hand over the name, his heart racing.

_Noah Anthony Puckerman_

The grass was a bit overgrown and the stone had become a bit weathered over the years, but there it was.

He smiles at the sight. Kurt had petitioned for them, in spite of his powerful grief, to forgo adding the 'Jr.' to Noah's head stone. Power of attorney had of course been with the state social worker who represented the court. One meeting with her had been enough to convince her of the complete travesty to Noah's memory adding those two letters would've been.

Noah had always hated it... Hated what having that name meant. He was happy knowing that Noah, at least in his death, had finally got to be his own man. Not a shadow of his absent Father.

"Honey, can I - May I have a moment?"

DJ nods his head in understanding, his eyes burning with concern.

"Take as much time as you need love."

"Papa where are we goin?"

"Just givin' Daddy a little space. Let's go over here for a minute baby boy."

Kurt exhales as the two men in his life wander a few yards away with the pretense of playing 'eye spy.'

He looks over the stone, so many emotions swirling within him it was hard to differentiate, hard to make sense of them all... Maybe he should have brought flowers after all - but then he's reminded of who's grave site he's actually at; Noah would've probably gagged at the thought of something like a bouquet of flowers... 'Faggy' he would've called them.

God... He was never good at this. Even with DJ being a part of his life, he hasn't fully become receptive to the idea of organized religion... the notion of talking to God. But yet here he is... staring down at the grave stone of his first love, his once everything, wanting nothing more then to talk to him. The tears build in his eyes as he starts, his voice shaky.

"I - I don't really know how to do this. You would know that though. Wouldn't you Noah?" Kurt chuckles, kneeling in front of the stone as his eyes drift over the name.

"I um - I did it. I went to school. You know - like we'd talked about. I got a degree in fashion and design... Typical fairy shit, I know. But you always did know I could do it, right? You said that."

He huffs, his throat battling to swallow down a sob. "I own a store actually. Well, two now. W-we've expanded quite a bit. We've even gotten into jewelry."

Kurt laughs softly to himself, thinking of what Noah would've said to that bit of news. Probably some smart ass remark about having Kurt make him a dog tag with the word 'Kurt's Bitch' engraved in it. He still had his bracelet, though now a days, he kept it safe in a box with all of his old letters, and other trinkets from his past. He pauses, pulls the locket from underneath his shirt, and opens the doors.

He smiles at the very familiar picture of himself and Noah: beaming, loving, and just happy with each other. His blue eyes then wander to the other side of the locket's interior, another small photo taking up the other side of the once empty door.

"His name is Harper. Harper Noah Phillips. We adopted him from birth not long after DJ passed the bar exam and came to live with me in Ohio."

The tears fall silently. Kurt sniffles but does nothing to halt the tracks sliding over his flushed cheeks. "He's my world, Noah. And he's so bright. He's only five and he's already reading. And he's kind... so kind hearted. And DJ's so great with him. He's such an amazing Father Noah. He's everything that we never had."

Kurt falters, the words catching as the tears momentarily blind him.

"I - I miss you. I still miss you... so much," He whispers. "Sometimes, I still dream of your face and for a moment I forget that I'm not a teenager, waiting to hear your laugh or have you throw me over your shoulder like a Neanderthal," he breaks as a fit of anxious laughter erupts from him, then turns into a half choked sob.

"I just - I just wanted - you to know t-that, I finally filled the void... that hole that Steven had dug so deep, and the darkness that losing you created... I filled it up with _them_. And I'm so happy. I'm happy Noah. I just - oh God you know I use this word loosely - I _pray_ that you know that, and are proud of me... That you know, h-how much you meant to me... How much I can't thank you enough... T-thank you - so much, Noah - for giving me life."

Kurt feels a strong hand cover his shoulder and he places his own over it without looking back, a smile breaking through his tears.

"Daddy, who're you talkin' to?"

Kurt spares his son a tearful glance and then returns to looking over the weathered stone bearing Puck's name before responding.

"Just - Someone who was really special to Daddy."

"Oh... why're you crying? Did the special person make you sad?"

"No sweetie. The special person gave Daddy so much happy feelings, that they came out in tears."

"Oh. Well I don't like when you're sad. Happy tears are good?"

"Yes sweetheart. They're very good."

Harper tucked his little hand inside Kurt's and clutched, the other winding it's way into DJ's grip.

"What was their name?"

"His name was Noah."

"Like my name in the middle?"

Kurt nods with a subtle grin, "that's who you got your middle name from."

"What was Noah like?"

Kurt feels DJ's eyes on him, knows that he's thinking the same thing: of their very first encounter, the very same question leaving DJ's lips on the day of Jerry's funeral.

"He was strong, and brave, and protected the people he loved. Just like you do. You're all of the best parts of him."

Harper bows his blonde head. At first, Kurt figures he may be in deep thought at the sight of the gesture, but then Harper pulls up a lone dandelion and places it on the foot of Noah's grave.

"Noah deserves a pretty flower since he was so good. Right?"

Kurt opens his mouth to speak, but instead gasps, the tears overwhelming him.

"Right son," DJ concedes, gently patting his son's head, then returns to squeezing Kurt's shoulder tightly. Even now, DJ still has that same grace about him, the same trait of absolute consideration, and trustworthiness... It's in moments like these that his Uncle Jerry seems to shine through his every pore.

"Can I say 'Hi'?"

Kurt nods, his lip smarting where his teeth were gnawing into it.

"Hi Noah. My name is Harper. It's nice to meet you."

DJ's arm is now over Kurt's shoulder, pulling him closer as they observe their son with sad, yet slightly awed expressions.

"Will he hear me?" Harper asks innocently. DJ's grip tightens around Kurt. He looks over at his husband catching blue eyes in a questioning gaze. Kurt knows that DJ's waiting for him to answer; giving Kurt the chance to set the expectation since Kurt was the one notably lacking in terms of faith.

"You know, I think he will. I think if you really mean it, he'll hear every word."

DJ grins broadly, obviously proud of his husband's willingness to impart this source of comfort for their son despite his own disbelief. He places a kiss to Kurt's temple and Kurt snuggles into his side.

"Good. Cause I wanted to tell him about the new toy I got, oh and how I'm gonna be in first grade soon."

"I think he'll like to know that."

And Harper chatters away about the everyday mundane happenings of his life that for whatever inexplicable reason, don't seem so trivial at the moment, as he excitedly divulges his thoughts to a gray hued stone without a care.

"And Daddy says he used to have Power Rangers too. And they got married like him and Papa did."

"Hey Harper. I saw a good bunch of dandelion flowers over there. Why don't you go pick some more for Noah, yeah?"

"Okay Papa," and the five year old scurries off to begin collecting the tiny buds, pulling carefully as to avoid ripping them away from their stems.

Kurt eyes DJ with curiousity, unsure of the intention behind the recent directive given to their son. DJ clears his throat, placing his hand on top of the head stone.

"I um - Hey, Noah. I guess maybe I should say Puck. I know you don't know me well, or at all really so the first name might be off limits to me. But I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm Dartagnon. DJ to most though. I just wanted to say - well, I'm completely in love with this man, and I know that I can never replace you or be what you were to him, but I hope you can give me your blessing to at least... To try be everything that I can be for him. Cause I promise I'll never give up on him, and I'll always be there to protect him, take care of him, and give him all of me everyday."

Kurt is rendered speechless. Damn... The tears just won't fucking stop.

DJ steps back, kisses the top of Kurt's head and continues toward their son, stooping down to help pull up what Harper deems the best picks of the bunch of dandelions scattered by the roots of a nearby tree.

Kurt moves forward, his decision having been made for quite some time, but easily solidified by the actions of his family. He unclasps the necklace, looks it over one last time, and places a gentle kiss over the cool metal.

"I wanted to give this to you."

He then lays it atop the head stone.

"I think maybe it's your turn to keep it now."

Kurt exhales, then smiles to himself, reaching up to wipe away the fresh tear stains that glisten in the sun's rays. And as he looks over to see his son and his husband now engrossed in a game of tag, he recalls something that he hadn't thought of for years without pain shooting through him... but this time, it's different, the memory of a certain mohawked boy plucking at a guitar and singing sweetly materializing in his mind's eye; giving him a deep sense of peace...

_Many years have passed since those summer days_

_Among the fields of barley_

_See the children run as the sun goes down_

_As you lie in fields of gold..._

"Till next we meet Puckerman," he whispers, a sly grin splitting across his face. He sighs heavily and places his hands in his back pockets, his blue eyes still carefully trained on that name.

"You ready babe?"

Kurt looks up, and positively beams at his husband. "Yes. I am."

"Wait!" Harper cries out, then rushes forward to arrange the carefully picked dandelions in front of the grave. "I hope we can still talk sometimes Mr. Noah. Goodbye."

DJ reaches out and drapes his arm over Kurt's shoulders, Harper running to get in front of his Fathers as together, the trio disappears over the hill.

The breeze is steady, slowly increasing its speed and density with the passing minutes. The white-gold locket falls from its position and lands on the ground, clicking completely open.

The overgrown snags of crab grass was obscuring one window, blocking the contents, but the other photo was in full view.

A family portrait: A blue eyed man with carefully coifed brown hair kneeling next to a caramel colored man with closely cropped waves, and a bright smile. Both pairs of eyes fixated on the little figure laid out in front of them... his blonde tendrils so full and golden, his hazel eyes so full of pride and love as he stared out toward the world, it was impossibly difficult to miss.


End file.
